


FAITH/FULL

by precious_red



Series: FAITH/FULL [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: 2014 Spring Interhigh, Canon Compliant, Character Study, Gen, Humor, Relationship Study, Sibling Bonding, Unreliable Narrator, but a whole bunch of miya twins feelings snuck in, rated T for the twins' potty mouths, this fic was originally about bullying atsumu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:07:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28176630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/precious_red/pseuds/precious_red
Summary: One moment, Atsumu’s walking towards the stadium entrance, the next he’s getting body-checked by what feels like half the band. He lands flat on his ass, almost falls off the sidewalk into traffic, which, holy shit! Holy shit. His ex-boyfriend is actually trying to kill him.Osamu, the jerk, stands over him pinching the bridge of his nose likehe’sthe one being inconvenienced here. “You’re really gonna die before the tournament ends, huh? This is gonna be so embarrassing to explain to Ma.”The Inarizaki High School Volleyball Club is going for the gold in the 2014 Spring Interhigh. They’ve just got to overcome a vengeful Inarizaki marching band, Atsumu’s many talented volleyball crushes, and the twins’ communication issues first. Easier said than done.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu & Miya Osamu, Past Miya Atsumu/Inarizaki Band Conductor
Series: FAITH/FULL [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2083725
Comments: 34
Kudos: 107





	FAITH/FULL

**Author's Note:**

> listened to "What Does The Fox Say?" sooo many times while writing this that i think i gave myself brain damage. full chaos playlist [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1e7fswedh0G0bKT1cdvQaU?si=jSK0pNeiTU6ikNUZHkxzFQ).
> 
> endless thanks to [cloudsandpassingevents](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cloudsandpassingevents/pseuds/cloudsandpassingevents) for being my band sensitivity reader, and also for listening to my inarizaki feelings for months now despite not actually watching haikyuu.....i love u bro <3 
> 
> finally....formal apologies to any band kids reading this i love u guys & i'm on ur side despite the band being antagonists in this fic i hope it's clear that atsumu definitely deserves all the bullying

Osamu doesn’t really believe in omens, but he gets the sinking feeling that this Spring Interhigh is going to be as cursed as the last one when he watches Inarizaki’s band director board their bus.

The school’s got three entire buses, there’s plenty of room for Yuasa Seiji to sit somewhere else! The team always sits together on the way to tournaments, so there are only about ten empty seats left on this bus. Which _moron_ decided it was a good idea to give one of those empty seats to Atsumu’s goddamn ex?

 _Our Coaches probably assigned Seiji to this bus so he can discuss cheerin’ tactics with the team captain,_ Osamu’s brain, which of course sounds like Kita-san, reasons.

The Kita-san in Osamu’s brain has clearly never met Atsumu. No one who has met Atsumu would make the mistake of thinking he has the maturity to work with his ex.

Atsumu is rummaging through his duffel bag and hasn’t seen Seiji yet. Osamu looks across the aisle of the bus at where Suna and Gin are settling in.

 _Help,_ he pleads silently.

Suna shrugs and puts his headphones in, like a total asshole. Gin winces sympathetically, but refuses to jump out of his seat to physically kick Seiji out of the bus, so he’s also a total asshole.

“Oi, ‘Samu, what do you think abou—”

Osamu can pinpoint the exact moment Atsumu notices Seiji. His twin goes shock-still, then his mouth twists into a nasty snarl, then he opens his mouth to say something undoubtedly obnoxious, which will further damage the already atrocious coordination between the team and the cheer squad.

Seiji, however, beats Atsumu to it.

“Osamu-kun,” he starts, in his sweet voice.

When Seiji and Atsumu started dating, Osamu could not, for the life of him, figure out how his brother managed to land someone who seemed like a nice guy with actual empathy and manners. However, when Osamu saw Seiji in action at a cheer planning meeting and learned he was a _band kid_ , he quickly realized his mistake. Yuasa Seiji was _not_ nice. When crossed, Yuasa Seiji had less empathy than _Atsumu_.

Seiji doesn’t acknowledge Atsumu. Doesn’t even let his eyes drift in Atsumu’s direction, which is impressive given that Atsumu is in the aisle seat, and Osamu is by the window. Seiji is literally standing less than an inch away from Atsumu outstretched legs, and yet has perfectly conveyed that he doesn’t think Atsumu exists. It’s incredible.

It’s also...so petty. Osamu fights the instinct to roll his eyes and permanently land himself on Seiji’s shit-list right beside his twin (assuming he isn’t there already just by virtue of having the same face).

“Do you have a moment to discuss cheer signals, Osamu-kun?”

Band kids are spiteful as shit. His brother’s an idiot for dating one— their fucking leader no less. He’s an even bigger idiot for breaking up with said leader less than a month before the biggest tournament of the year.

Luckily for Atsumu (and unfortunately for Osamu), Atsumu’s idiocy does not absolve Osamu of his twin-duties. So much for staying off of Seiji’s shit-list.

Osamu lets out an exaggerated yawn. “Sorry Seiji-kun, I didn’t sleep very well last night and was gonna catch up on the bus. I’m sure ‘Tsumu would be down to talk though.” Osamu exaggerates his brother’s name and even gestures to Atsumu’s pouting form next to him.

Atsumu, who had slouched into his seat, chin nestled down into his jacket, sits up a little straighter and smirks.

 _Keep your mouth shut,_ Osamu prays, _please don’t say something snarky and make this worse._

“Ah, of course Osamu-kun. Uh, actually now that I think about it I need to clarify some things with the rest of the band. Let’s uh, let’s talk when we get to Nagoya!” Seiji stumbles, evidently startled that Osamu would stand up for his brother.

Osamu sees Atsumu open his mouth out of the corner of his eye and stomps, hard, on his brother’s foot. Atsumu has probably developed protective calluses on his toes at this point though so it doesn’t do much damage, but at least he shuts up.

“I hope you rest well on the trip!” Seiji says brightly, then goes to sit with the rest of the band kids. Osamu can already feel the killing intent emanate from the back of the bus.

“Ya really do care ‘Samu! I’m touched,” Atsumu laughs once Seiji is out of earshot, nudging Osamu’s shoulder.

Osamu nudges back— well, shoves, really, considering Atsumu falls out of his seat. “If ya touch a single grain of rice on my plate this whole trip I’m sendin’ Seiji the video of you bawlin’ in the bathroom.”

Grumbling, Atsumu gets back into his seat and nestles his chin back down into his jacket, slouched and ready for a long sulk. Good. Maybe Osamu will actually be able to get some sleep on the way to his last tournament.

A screeching note blares from the back of the bus and Atsumu falls out of his seat, again. Osamu groans and opens his eyes.

“Sorry!” one of the band kids calls, as another shushes everyone else’s giggling.

“Obata wanted to practice his piccolo solo. We hope that’s alright!” another chirps, making it clear that they’re not asking for permission.

Osamu kisses any hope of sleeping on the bus goodbye. _Fucking_ band kids.

“It’s fine,” Atsumu grits out, forcing something resembling cheer into his voice. “Thanks for everythin’ you’re doin’.”

He plops back into his seat.

“What a gracious captain.” Osamu says flatly.

“Oh, shut up,” Atsumu replies.

A moment of silence, then another loud blare of noise.

Across the aisle, Suna cracks open an eye to squint balefully at Atsumu. A pack of fruit snacks goes sailing from a few rows ahead of them and smacks Atsumu’s forehead dead on— Kosaku’s work, probably.

Osamu glares at his brother. “You just haaad to date the conductor.”

“Stuff it,” Atsumu snarls, then chucks his own pair of noise cancelling headphones into Osamu’s lap.

“For real?” Osamu asks.

Atsumu crosses his arms with a pout that suggests he’s settling in for a truly epic sulk. “You’re gonna play like a scrub if ya don’t sleep, and yours are broken, so.”

Osamu snorts and puts the headphones on, cutting off another loud note and leaving Atsumu to his brassy fate. It’s only fair. Atsumu was the one who broke Osamu’s headphones in the first place.

The bus ride to Nagoya is blissfully, blessedly, only three hours long. Thank god Nationals aren’t in Tokyo again this year— Atsumu feels a part of his soul wither away everytime he thinks about the six hour trip.

The band kids get tired of tooting their own horns (hah) about thirty minutes in, so Atsumu gets some peace to prepare for the tournament. He passes the first hour running through their playbook and making sure, for at least the fifth time this week, that he has all the hand signals perfect. Hour two is reserved for reviewing his notes on all the potential strong opponents on their side of the bracket— Karasuno, Fukurodani, Itachiyama— and discussing starting lineups with Coach Kurosu. Hour three is the same as hour two, except Atsumu wakes Osamu up for it.

His twin, ever the grouchy sleeper, wakes with a grumbled, “Ugh ‘Tsumu the fuck…”

“We’re an hour out!” Atsumu whisper-shouts, poking Osamu’s shoulder. “Which means you need to pull your weight as vice captain for once and help us finalize starting lineups!”

Osamu rubs his eyes and looks despairingly at Coach Kurosu, who just chuckles.

“It is important that you agree with the lineups, Osamu-kun.”

Atsumu smiles, satisfied. Another point in his column for the ongoing “who does Coach like better?” competition he and Osamu have going.

“We use the same lineup in almost every game…” Osamu mumbles.

“So? That doesn’t mean it’ll be best for this tournament!” Atsumu says hotly.

Osamu rolls his eyes, but sits up to look through the binder in Atsumu’s hands.

“Mm, they all seem good. I’m with Coach on the Karasuno lineup. What kinda dumbass idea is it to not match me with Hinata?”

Coach Kurosu nods and marks something down on his clipboard while Atsumu snaps, “Idiot idea? He’s the only one there who can keep up with ya! You’ll get more attacks through if you’re matched against everyone else.”

“I’m faster now, there’s no way that shrimp’ll keep up,” Osamu says flatly. “Plus they’ve got that other middle blocker who’s pretty good with stopping the quick too.”

Atsumu scoffs, “The blonde one? Please he’s lazier than you are, there’s no way he can keep up. Hinata on the other hand actually tries, which is more than I can say for you.”

Osamu’s eye twitches. For reasons unknown to Atsumu, Osamu is deeply unimpressed by Shoyo. It would be one thing if Osamu held a grudge after their loss to Karasuno last year, but that’s not it. Osamu really truly does not think Shoyo is that impressive when it comes to volleyball, which is absurd to Atsumu. Yet more proof that Atsumu is the smarter twin.

Coach Kurosu intervenes before this can escalate to an all out fight.

“Alright! We’ll stick with matching Osamu up against Karasuno’s middle blocker, and we can readjust in the match as needed.”

Atsumu twists his lips and begrudgingly adds a point to Osamu’s column in the “who does Coach like more?” contest.

Osamu gives Atsumu a satisfied smirk—”Thanks Coach. Glad you agree,”— then pops Atsumu’s headphones back in. “I’m going back to sleep.”

“Seriously? We’re almost there.”

Osamu rolls towards the window and does not reply. Jerk.

Bored without volleyball or bothering Osamu to keep himself occupied, Atsumu turns his attention to the rest of the team.

The team group chat has been going wild for the whole trip, but Atsumu’s been ignoring it to focus on the tournament. He figures now is as good a time as any to catch up and pulls out his phone— then immediately regrets it.

 **Gin:** _so uh...i guess atsumu didn’t apologize to seiji_

 **Suna:** _lolll atsumu apologize? never_

 **Riseki:** _do we even know why they broke up?_

 **Suna:** _better question is why they were even together in the first place who would wanna date atsumu_

 **Riseki:** _that’s mean suna obviously they were a good match_

 **Riseki:** _atsumu and seiji are both vicious monsters!!_

 **Kosaku:** _FUN TOURNAMENT GAME! Let’s all guess why we think they broke up. Person w/ the funniest story wins!_

 **Gin:** _aww guys that’s a little mean don’t you think?_

 **Suna:** _we can probably convince osamu to cook something for whoever wins…_

 **Gin:** _….fine i’m in_

Atsumu looks up to glare at Gin— betrayed by his study buddy! Is nothing sacred?

 **Atsumu:** _you’re all jerks_

 **Suna:** _says the guy who didn’t apologize and ruined the bus ride for all of us_

 **Atsumu:** _stop whining!! they were only being annoying for a little bit_

 **Atsumu:** _anyways why does everyone assume i have something to apologize for?!!_

 **Suna:** _…_

 **Gin:** _……._

 **Riseki:** _…………_

Atsumu puts his phone away, glances at Osamu who is already asleep again, and sighs. It’s the last tournament of his high school career and Atsumu is going to be spending it figuring out how to survive the wrath of the Inarizaki band with only his callous brother and cruel team to rely on for help. He’s screwed.

“Hurry your asses up,” Atsumu shouts at his team as they dally around the bus trying to sort out who’s duffel bag is who’s.

Osamu shouts back, “Calm your ass down, we’re comin’.” What a dick. At least Suna disobeys quietly.

“Here, Miya-san!” Kyoichi chirps in front of him. Hokama Kyoichi, their new libero, is the only first year on their starting line up. Atsumu is almost certain he uses Atsumu’s surname because he can’t actually tell Atsumu and Osamu apart. Still, Kyoichi is the only player around here that gives Atsumu any kind of respect, so he’ll take what he can get.

“And that,” Atsumu proclaims, thumping Kyoichi’s shoulder, “is why you're my favorite Kyo-kun.” He ignores the snickers of the other first years whispering about Kyoichi being a suck up. Literally everyone (sans Kyoichi) followed Osamu’s example and decided to treat their captain with as little respect as possible. Atsumu curses his treacherous twin-turned-vice-captain each and every day. No one ever laughed at Kita like this.

Eventually the team gets it together and huddles around Atsumu for their room assignments and any plans for tonight.

“Alright! We’re havin’ dinner at five and reviewin’ our first round opponents at six. Don’t be late or you're doin’ all the dishes, alone. Breakfast starts at 6 in the mornin’ and then we’re headin’ to the gym at 7 for warmups. If you're late to that, you’re cleanin’ the bus after the tourney. Got it?”

The team nods, sans Suna who is looking at his phone and Osamu who is staring off into space.

“Good. ‘Kay now listen up for room assignments. First we got—”

Atsumu is interrupted by a loud trumpet trill, followed by the entire band launching into a very loud rendition of Inarizaki’s fight song.

What the shit? They literally just stepped off the bus! How on earth did they have time to find their instruments and assemble them and get coordinated enough to play a full-band song?

Atsumu rolls his eyes and shoots his most poisonous glare over at the band. The band does not stop. Seiji isn’t even looking at him! Atsumu wants to kill something.

He settles for jabbing his elbow into Osamu’s side when Osamu and Suna start snickering.

“Ow! The fuck?” Osamu yelps.

The band stops playing and Atsumu opens his mouth to speak, but snaps it shut again when the band starts up again, even louder than before.

Holy shit.

Holy shit!

This is so unfair! Atsumu wasn’t even the one who initiated the breakup! Seiji wanted more from the relationship, and sure maybe Atsumu could have accepted the criticism with a little more grace, but Seiji was still the one who finally made the call to end things. And okay, Atsumu might have called Seiji a “spineless yes-man cheerleader” in the ensuing fight, but those were just words! Seiji decided to wage a goddamn war in response! Fucking band kids!

The first years are giggling now, and even Gin is smiling a little. Atsumu no longer wants to kill something. Atsumu wants to _die_.

Unfortunately, they still have a tournament to win, so death is not an option. Instead, Atsumu whirls around and walks ( _walks_ , not “stomps like a toddler”, shut the fuck up ‘Samu) into the hotel.

Seiji’s rage at Atsumu, enormous as it is, seems to have limits because the band doesn’t cause a ruckus inside the hotel where they could disturb other guests. In this relative peace, Atsumu finally hands out room assignments. The team’s got two rooms at the small Japanese-style hotel they’re staying at— one for the first years and half of the second years, and the other for everyone else. It’ll be a tight fit, but tournaments are all about stretching the budget.

The school couldn’t find enough rooms for everyone from Inarizaki on one floor, so the band is staying on the first floor on the other side of the building. When the rooms were first booked, Atsumu had been disappointed about that. But that was pre-breakup— now, he’s just relieved.

Safe in the third years’ room, bag unpacked, sweats stolen from Osamu (Atsumu forgot his own, whoops), Atsumu takes a deep breath.

The room is empty, everyone having trickled downstairs to hang out, save for Gin who’s still unpacking his bad. He pauses and looks up. “You good man?”

“Huh? Yeah I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Gin raises an eyebrow.

Atsumu groans. “Why’s everyone making the Seiji thing more complicated than it needs to be? We broke up, he’s still mad at me, and he’s being petty about it.” If he’s being honest with himself, Atsumu will admit that he kind of deserves it. Not that he’ll ever say so out loud. “Simple as that.”

“Uh, right,” Gin says, but his eyebrow is still up.

Atsumu squints at him, then braces himself for some emotional honesty because that’s clearly what Gin’s looking for. “Ugh, just ask.”

“Well, I mean it’s our last high school tournament. It’s kind of a big deal for you right? Even without the whole breakup.”

Atsumu pauses, suddenly uncomfortable. “It’s everyone’s last tournament, not just mine. Why’re you askin’ me this?” he asks.

Gin just sighs. “No reason. Wanna head downstairs? It’s almost five.”

Atsumu nods and walks out the door, shoving the discomfort away like he has been for the entire year.

When Osamu walks downstairs, he’s immediately accosted by the first years shoving their phones in his face.

“So are you gonna judge the contest Osamu-san?”

“My story’s definitely the best, look!”

“Stop being such a suck up Ikeda! Not all of us have even sent anything yet!”

“Judge what now?” Osamu asks, squinting at shaking screens.

“Do you ever check your messages?” Suna drawls from where he’s sitting on one of the dining tables.

“Not all of us are glued to our phones, Sunarin,” Osamu replies, holding Ikeda’s phone still so he can read what’s going on. Oh, making funny guesses on why Atsumu and Seiji broke up.

Osamu snorts, “That sounds fun— yeah sure I’ll judge.”

The first years all cheer, then scramble off to their table to brainstorm the wildest possible scenarios.

Leaving them to their fun, Osamu plops down into one of the chairs by Suna. “You got a guess on the breakup?” he asks.

“Realistically, Atsumu finally said something awful— it’s a miracle he lasted this long until now. For the contest though, I’m thinking Atsumu kept shouting volleyball phrases in bed and Seiji couldn’t take it anymore. Probably can’t say that in front of the first years though… I should workshop it more.”

Osamu grimaces. “Gross Sunarin! Forget the first years, _I_ don’t wanna hear that either.”

“Everyone’s a critic…” he says with a roll of his eyes, then puts his phone away. “So what’s up with Atsumu anyways? Do you know why they broke up? I haven’t gotten a clear answer from the rumor mill.”

“Hell if I know. He gets extremely pissy whenever I bring it up. I’ve given up tryin’ to figure out what happened, I just hope it doesn’t mess with the our play too much.”

“Ha! You know that’s not going to happen. Our band is terrifying, I can’t believe Atsumu made an enemy out of them so close to nationals.”

Osamu groans and drops his head onto the table. “I’m tryin’ to be optimistic here Sunarin…”

Suna pats Osamu’s back. “Sorry it’s going to end like this.”

Osamu turns his head to glare up at Suna.

“Too soon?” Suna asks. He doesn’t sound particularly sorry, but that’s Suna for you.

“No. No it’s fine. I knew this was gonna be the end of volleyball for me since I made my decision… I’m ready for it.”

“Okay, let’s say I believe you. Is Atsumu?”

Osamu looks up skeptically at Suna, who is back to looking at his phone. “I mean, yeah? I think so? He hasn’t said anything about it in ages and Atsumu doesn’t hide when something’s up.”

Suna looks surprised at this. “Well you’re right about that. Huh, I guess he is fine.”

Honestly, Osamu is also a little suspicious about how easily Atsumu accepted Osamu quitting volleyball after the initial fight, but he’s content to let sleeping dogs lie. Osamu shrugs, “I’ve decided not to question it.”

“Fair enough. So back to you then. You’re okay, really?”

Osamu grumbles, “Jeez, you sound like Gin. Yes, Suna, I’m good. I will be playing at my best ability at this tournament. I will not let my sorrowful tears at leaving volleyball cloud my judgement.”

Suna laughs, “It’s not your volleyball playing I was asking about, but okay,” and leaves it at that, going back to his phone and showing Osamu the occasional Vine.

Suddenly unsettled, Osamu is only half paying attention. He wasn’t lying to Suna— he is ready for this tournament, his last tournament. He has no doubt in his ability as a player, he believes the team will do well. But…

Osamu looks up to scan the room. The second years are panicking over some homework assignment, the first years are still bickering over the why-did-Atsumu-and-Seiji-breakup contest, loud footsteps from the staircase signal Atsumu is about to barge in and bark at everyone to get to team meeting. The scene doesn’t stir excitement, or peace, or acceptance. Instead, Osamu feels his breath speed up a bit, his chest tighten.

“What’re you all goofin’ around for? Grab dinner and circle up for team meeting!” Atsumu shouts as he bursts into the room, Gin trailing behind him.

Osamu swallows the feeling down— he’s had plenty of practice in the past year— and stands up to help his brother wrangle the team.

The band takes the evening to explore Nagoya, so the team meeting proceeds without interruption. Thank god too, because Atsumu is a nightmare to spend time with when he’s in a pissy mood and Osamu is unfortunately stuck with his twin for the rest of the night since the two planned on meeting up with Kita and Aran after dinner.

“Come on, come on! We’re runnin’ late!” Atsumu yells as Osamu stumbles to put on his shoes.

“And whose fuckin’ fault is that,” Osamu grumbles. Atsumu spent literally thirty minutes messing with his hair, hogging the bathroom so Osamu had to shower in five. Osamu doesn’t even know why Atsumu bothers— his hair still looks like piss no matter how he combs it.

He tells Atsumu so as they walk out of the hotel. His brother squawks and tries to swat Osamu’s head, but Osamu ducks neatly.

“Who are ya even tryin’ to impress anyways? You know Kita-san and Aran-kun are both way out of your league, right?”

“I swear I’m gonna push you into traffic,” Atsumu snarls back, the back of his neck a bit pink. It’s a poorly kept secret amongst the Inarizaki third-years that Atsumu has massive crushes on both Kita and Aran. The part where Osamu might also have a small crush on Aran is not at all relevant. Atsumu is oblivious enough that he hasn’t figured it out, so Osamu can continue to tease to his heart’s content.

Maybe Atsumu’s crushes on Kita and Aran are why things didn’t work out with Seiji, Osamu muses as the two walk through the warm Nagoya night. Osamu doesn’t actually know why the two broke up— couldn’t make out anything coherent amidst Atsumu’s crying the first night and endless grumbling ever since. Must’ve been bad though, considering the war of attrition the band has been waging ever since. There was a full week immediately after the breakup when the band snuck into the gym every morning to slightly deflate _every single volleyball_. About a month ago, they glitter bombed Atsumu’s locker— the team is still clearing glitter out of the club room. Last week they somehow managed to snag Atsumu in a volleyball net when he was locking up after practice, leaving him trapped for about an hour before Osamu noticed his twin missing. Osamu kind of wishes he had just left him there.

“I think it should be right up ahead,” Atsumu mutters, double checking his phone as they turn off of the bustling main road and towards a winding side-alley.

“Ya better not get us lost,” Osamu quips.

“Please, like you even know how to read a map,” Atsumu snarks back.

“At least I know how to read…”

“What? Shut up you’re one to talk— Oh! There they are!”

Osamu still doesn’t understand how his brother can change not just the pitch of his voice but also his entire demeanor mid-sentence. But here he is, annoyance completely traded out for giddy excitement.

“Kita-san! Aran-kun! Over here!” Atsumu yells, disturbing the quiet peace of the temple.

Kita was the one who suggested they meet up at a nearby Inari Shrine, about a thirty minute walk away from the downtown hotel where the team is staying. Inarizaki has never really had traditions, but for the three years that Kita was on the team he made a habit to visit the local Inari Shrine before tournaments, and the twins, desperate for his approval, followed suit. It feels right to meet up with their senior friends here now.

Despite Osamu’s annoyance at Atsumu’s obnoxious yelling, he finds himself smiling.

“Atsumu! Osamu! How are ya?” Aran laughs as the twins approach.

“We should be askin’ you that, Aran-kun! How’s the professional life treatin’ ya?” Atsumu says, grabbing Aran’s outstretched arm to pull him into a bro-hug. Atsumu saw the gesture while watching an American volleyball game their first-year and wouldn’t shut up until Aran taught him how to do it. So now, it’s their standard greeting with each other.

Well, Osamu thinks as he watches them firmly thump each other’s backs, at least they’re both having fun with it.

“Kita-san,” Osamu says, inclining his head a bit to acknowledge his former captain.

“Osamu,” Kita says back, as calm as ever. His eyes are relaxed and squinting a bit though, which is the Kita-equivalent of a warm smile.

“Kita-san!” Atsumu bursts in, loudly.

“Atsumu, it’s good to see ya.” Kita replies, now smiling a bit.

It’s contagious, Atsumu’s wide grin. Aran is laughing now, ruffling Osamu’s hair.

“How’ve ya been, Osamu?” Aran says.

Osamu feels his face heat up a little, and is very thankful it’s dark out by now. How Atsumu falls for nearly everyone but also manages to interact with his crushes so unselfconsciously is beyond Osamu.

“Ah, you know. Same as ever. Got my hands full tryin’ to keep this clown from runnin’ the team into the ground.”

“Shut up, ‘Samu,” Atsumu says, but there’s no real heat in his voice, he’s so overjoyed at seeing Kita and Aran again.

“I’ll bet,” Aran chuckles.

“Aran-kun, why’re ya takin’ his side?” Atsumu whines, poking Aran’s bicep.

Shameless, Osamu thinks, but privately he’s a little jealous.

“Shall we?” Kita interrupts before they can break into a full squabble, “The shrine closes in an hour.”

So the four make their way up the winding path, underneath the series of red-gates. Aran and Atsumu are walking ahead, locked in an intense discussion about volleyball, of course.

“That cut-shot against EJP last game was so cool! When are they gonna put you on the starting line up?”

“Aw well, I dunno if it was that amazin’—“

“— shut up it definitely was! But your setter could use some work. I definitely wouldn’ve made ya jump for it like that.”

“Hah! Don’t get too full of yourself! Anyways, the coach hasn’t said anythin’ yet, but the captain told me last week that depending on how playoffs go, I could start as soon as next season.”

“Woah! That’s incredible Aran-kun!”

“Thanks Atsumu. And what about you? Heard from any scouts?”

Atsumu’s grin is audible in his voice. “Yep! The Jackals, Adlers, and Rockets are all knockin’!”

“Damn— Ushiwaka’s team and Kiryuu’s team? Not bad ‘Tsumu!”

“They’d be lucky to have me!” Atsumu huffs proudly, “But honestly ‘m leanin’ towards the Jackals. They’re not as good but they did just get Bokuto and…”

Osamu starts losing track at this point and instead starts counting the number of torii gates leading up to the shrine entrance. He gets to seven when Kita disrupts his thoughts.

“So, how’ve ya been Osamu?”

“Not bad. It’s been exhausting keepin’ up with Atsumu’s practice schedule, but I think it’ll pay off this tournament.”

“Outside of volleyball, I mean.”

Osamu looks at Kita, who is still facing ahead, smiling fondly at Atsumu and Aran. He’s surprised at the wave of gratitude welling up inside him.

“Fine. Well, good actually. Heard back from a few schools, ‘m leanin’ towards Osaka so I get to stay close to home.”

“And you’re gonna study business?”

Osamu nods, “Yeah, I am.”

“So the plan is still to open a restaurant then?”

At this, Osamu looks back up at the tori gates. He’s lost count. “I mean, hopefully, yeah.”

“Hopefully?” Kita asks. Osamu glances at him and fights a shiver when he meets Kita’s gaze— as even and intimidating as ever. He looks away again, suddenly self conscious.

“Well, the restaurant business is tough, especially starting from scratch. Might make more sense to work up from the bottom.”

Kita doesn’t say anything in response, and Osamu fights the instinct to look back up because he knows the assessing stare he’ll be met with and has no desire to have his mind brutally and efficiently read tonight, all insecurities laid bare under the shrine lights.

New topic then. “So how are you? How’s your granny? How’s school?”

Thankfully, Kita takes the change in topics without question— bullet dodged. “I’m good, granny’s good. The commute is kinda rough but I’m glad I get to live at home while studyin’. School’s been great, pretty tough but nothing I can’t handle.”

There’s Kita for you— stable, balanced, a good grandson, with perfect grades. He's studying agriculture in Kobe— which speaking of, where is Kita even staying in Nagoya?

“How’re ya even here right now? You stayin’ in a hotel?”

“Ah, Aran was kind enough to lemme crash at his place for the week.” Kita’s gaze flickers downwards as he speaks and his voice gets a bit quieter too, almost like he’s… shy?

Huh, Osamu thinks, eyes flitting between Kita’s profile and Aran’s back. Interesting.

He opens his mouth to ask about it, but Kita cuts Osamu off before he gets the chance to pry further, which furthers Osamu’s suspicion that somethings up.

Unfortunately it looks like they’re back to examining Osamu’s life choices. “Are you nervous?” Kita asks. He sounds unassuming but Osamu winces— trust Kita to read Osamu’s mind from just a brief conversation about future plans.

“About the tournament?” Osamu asks, intentionally misunderstanding. Don’t look at Kita’s eyes, he reminds himself, don’t look at his eyes, don’t look at his—

“No, about after.”

—damnit. Too late. Osamu snaps his head up in surprise, finds himself pinned under his former captain’s unflinching stare.

“...yeah. I mean, of course I am. It’s a cutthroat industry. Who wouldn’t be nervous?”

“Volleyball can be a cutthroat sport,” Kita reasons, “And you’ve never been nervous on the court.”

“That’s different,” Osamu says before he can stop himself.

Kita raises an eyebrow. Ahead of them, Atsumu barks his harsh laugh, then yelps when Aran bats at his shoulder.

Ah what the hell. He’s never been able to hold up under Kita’s scrutiny, there’s no reason to think he’ll magically be able to do it now.

“Of course it’s different,” Osamu says. He watches his twin’s back— he’s wearing the Inarizaki jacket and now that Osamu is looking closely, he thinks it's his own. They always mix them up when they do laundry, but Osamu’s is a bit more stretched out around the arms. At this point though, they mix up jackets so often it doesn’t make a lot of sense to differentiate between the two.

“When I’m playin’ volleyball, I’m too busy keepin’ up with ‘Tsumu. There’s no time to be nervous when you’re goin’ that fast.”

“And you won’t be going that fast in whatever happens next?”

Osamu snorts, looks down at his feet. “‘Tsumu’s always been the one who sets the pace of games.”

Kita opens his mouth, presumably to unpack that metaphor and force Osamu to say it plainly but luckily, Osamu’s pride is saved by their arrival at the shrine.

“Oop, looks like they close in thirty. Better hurry!” Atsumu chirps as they walk under the maind gate. There are kitsune statues at each side of the pathway, standing watch over the shrine. One of them holds a key in its mouth, the other holds a sheaf of rice.

It’s nearly completely dark out now, the shrine nearly empty with just a few families milling around and getting ready to leave. The only light comes from the electric lamps dotting the pathway.

Osamu’s never been much for prayer but dutifully clasps his hands in front of the main shrine for a few minutes like everyone else. He thanks the gods for his family’s good health, for all the good meals, and asks for many more meals in the future.

He opens his eyes to see Kita and Aran still praying. Surprisingly, Atsumu is too. Osamu knows his brother is less inclined to prayer than even Osamu is, and also definitely less thoughtful in general— what could he be taking so long to pray about? Osamu would be shocked if there was a single desire in Atsumu’s brain beyond winning volleyball games.

“Shall we go leave some offerings?” Kita suggests after a few moments, pulling a wrapped pack of two Inari-zushi from his pocket.

“Ah, shit I forgot to bring somethin’,” Osamu says.

“Don’t worry— I gotcha covered,” Atsumu crows, sounding way too proud of himself as he pulls a brown paper bag from his pocket.

Aran laughs, “Since when did you get so responsible?”

“Just tryin’ to live up to my old captain’s legacies,” Atsumu says, practically preening.

Osamu snorts. “Shameless,” he mumbles so only Atsumu can hear him. His brother hisses and tries to stomp on Osamu’s foot, but Osamu dodges in time.

“So, what’d y’all pray for?” Atsumu asks as they walk to the pedestal for offerings.

“The usual, good health, food,” Osamu replies.

Kita unwraps the Inari-zushi and kneels to place one on the stone, then hands the other to Aran. “My granny’s health and good weather for the harvest this year,” he says, “And you, Aran?”

“Same as Osamu— safety, food on the table. Also maybe a little luck in our next match against the Adlers. How ‘bout you, Atsumu?”

Atsumu doesn’t answer immediately, an immediate alarm bell that whatever is about to come out of his mouth isn’t going to be the whole truth. Instead, he opens his paper bag, pulls out two onigiri— who knows where he got them or when he picked them up— and hands one to Osamu.

Osamu considers the rice ball in his hand, slightly smushed from its time in Atsumu’s jacket pocket, before kneeling to place it on the altar. The onigiri looks a bit frumpy next to the neat fox-ear-like Inari-zushi. Since it's the end of the day, the pedestal is covered in offerings. There are several fox statues, some bags of candy, a small pack of rice, a tiny bottle of sake, a few other packs of Inari-zushi. The onigiri seems out of place, but Osamu supposes that’s his brother’s style anyways.

Despite having had a pretty big dinner, Osamu finds himself a little jealous at the bounty in front of him. He’s always wondered why people give rice and sake to the god of literally exactly those things. You’d think Inari Okami would be more than capable of growing his own rice.

Then again, maybe helping everyone else out with their growing makes you build up quite the appetite yourself.

Finally, Atsumu speaks. “The chance to play lots more volleyball, of course!” he laughs, squatting to place his onigiri next to Osamu’s. His eyes seem to have a glow of their own, separate from the light reflected from the lanterns.

Gods are hungry, Osamu thinks as he watches his brother. People are too.

Morning practice goes well— better than Atsumu expects, even, which is impressive because Atsumu expects nothing less than the best from his team. It’s entirely because Aran agreed to help out, but Atsumu will still take credit because he’s the one who spent the entire walk back from the Inari shrine begging Aran to “just supervise, just for a little while Aran-kun please?”. Aran, with the kind of fondness only years of (probably ill-advised) friendship could create, agreed.

They spent most of the morning on 3v3 matches— Atsumu, Osamu, and Aran each playing in and supervising different courts.

Osamu’s match runs long, so Atsumu debriefs with Aran first while the rest of the team starts serving practice.

“So? How were they?” Atsumu asks, trying not to sound like he’s hunting for praise and missing by a mile.

“Stop looking for compliments,” Aran chides, “They’re really good Atsumu, but you already knew that.”

Atsumu grins. “Of course they are. I’m their captain after all! But hey it doesn’t hurt to hear it confirmed from our all-star alumni.”

“Stop flattering yourself, and me for that matter,” Aran says flatly, but then he starts smiling like he can’t help himself. “You have done a good job leadin’ them though. Our offense feels a lot more stable than it did last year. And that first-year libero of yours is something special. Putting him on the starting lineup couldn’t have been an easy decision, but it was the right one.”

Atsumu nods. Kosaku had been training to replace Akagi as libero, but when Kyoichi— a semi-decent spiker in middle school— showed up at tryouts declaring he was going to be the starting libero, Atsumu decided to take a gamble. He’s glad it paid off.

“Riseki’s grown a lot too. He tends to hold back on serving at the start of matches though, so definitely keep an eye out for that in matches. Other than that, I think you’re all ready to go.”

“Thanks Aran, seriously. It means a lot that you’re here,” Atsumu says.

Aran laughs, startled. “What’s with you bein’ all earnest suddenly?”

With a shrug, Atsumu says, “Guess I just appreciate more how much you did last year now that it’s my job. It’s good to know that my old captain thinks I did alright.”

“You really did get responsible, huh? Never thought I’d see the day,” Aran says, and ruffles Atsumu’s hair. Atsumu blushes and tries to shake Aran off, ineffectively.

“How’re you feeling for the tournament?” Aran adds, “Last high school tournament and all. Hell, last tournament with Osamu too.”

At that, Atsumu freezes. He should have known Aran would bring it up— he knows Atsumu and Osamu better than anyone.

“Feeling good,” Atsumu says with some forced cheer, trying to play off the brief pause. There’s basically no chance that Aran didn’t notice, but hopefully he’ll let it slide.

“...you and Osamu haven’t talked about it since he told you, huh?”

Got it in one. Atsumu should know better than to underestimate Aran by now.

“What’s there to talk about?” Atsumu says, a bit petulant, “What does it matter if it’s ‘Samu’s last tournament? As long as he’s not slackin’, he can do what he wants.”

“Uh huh. And you don’t feel anything at all about this?”

Atsumu glares at Aran and refuses to respond on principle. Atsumu, obviously, feels many things about this. He also doesn’t have the time or patience (or skill) to parse through what he’s feeling and put it into words. As long as it doesn’t interfere with volleyball, it doesn’t matter.

He’s saved by the clock, approaching 8 AM. Turning away from Aran, Atsumu yells “Good work everyone— fifteen to cool down then we’re headin’ to the stadium.” The team pairs off and disperses around the gym to stretch. Atsumu hightails it away from Aran to stretch by Osamu.

Osamu eyes Atsumu skeptically as he approaches. “You’re not gonna make me drill the quick fifty times before we leave?” he asks.

“Nah,” Atsumu shrugs, “Your weak ass would probably get tired and crash in the first game.”

Osamu squints. “I’m never gonna get used to your considerate captain act….” he grumbles, settling down next to Atsumu to get started on his cool down stretches.

Atsumu ignores Osamu’s jab, though privately he’s pleased. Osamu and the other third years had been extremely weirded out by Atsumu’s change in attitude at the beginning of the year.

“Did Kita-san put a curse on ya or something?” Osamu had asked, to which Suna replied, “No, I bet Atsumu confessed and Kita-san turned him down so brutally that Atsumu grew a conscience,” to which Atsumu replied “Shut the fuck up I have a literal boyfriend!” and demanded Osamu and Suna run laps for their disobedience. Naturally, they had ignored him.

The truth is much simpler— Atsumu refuses to be anything less than the best at what he does. Being the best setter meant always supporting his spikers with all ten fingers and demanding they rise to the occasion. Being the best setter meant practicing until he felt feverish and then getting sent home early with a bottle of tea and pack of umeboshi.

Being the best captain means stocking up on umeboshi and tea and knowing when to use them.

So, Atsumu learned. The result is this: Atsumu is an awesome captain and Inarizaki is an awesome team and they are going to win this tournament.

The gym they’re renting is close to the stadium, so the team forgoes the bus in favor of walking. Atsumu and Osamu spend the trip arguing starting rotations, with Aran as a tiebreaker.

Well, tiebreaker is a strong word, considering they aren’t really giving Aran the chance to talk, but Aran doesn’t seem to be too bothered considering he’s completely tuned them out in favor of texting someone.

“Can you please grow a brain? Obviously it makes more sense to match Gin up to Hinata. Or didja forget how he shut you down last time?”

Osamu rolls his eyes. “Oh please, I get that you think the shrimp hung the stars and sun or whatever, but you know I’m better than him. Aran-kun back me up—”

One of Atsumu’s eyes twitches, just because Osamu has a heart of ice in comparison doesn’t mean that everything Atsumu does is immediately motivated by his feelings. Sure, Shoyo’s cute and also one of the most dynamic and exciting players Atsumu has ever seen, but Atsumu is perfectly capable of separating his admiration for Shoyo as a person from his professional opinions as the Inarizaki captain!

“Hey! I don’t think Shoyo-kun hung the stars! I just think he’s a talented spiker! And he’s definitely faster than you, Aran-kun I’m right, right?”

“Oh my god can you stop, your stupid love life has gotten us into enough trouble this year already.”

Ah, there it is. Osamu’s winning card in every argument they’ve had for the past month. Seiji.

“Huh? What’s that supposed to mean?” Atsumu spits, face flushing.

“I’m just sayin’,” Osamu drawls.

“Oh, looks like Shinsuke is already here,” Aran says, neatly cutting through the twins’ argument with the implied threat of Kita’s piercing stare.

Atsumu looks towards the stadium entrance, where Aran is pointing, to see Kita and…

Oh no.

Oh _fuck_ no.

“Not a word,” Atsumu snaps, holding a finger up at Osamu without turning his head.

“I didn’t say anything,” Osamu says, a smirk clearly audible in his voice.

Atsumu cannot even respond, he is too busy staring in horror at Kita Shinsuke, former Inarizaki captain and former (probably) crush, talking to Yuasa Seiji, current Inarizaki band director and former (definitely) boyfriend.

Aran raises an eyebrow at Atsumu, who is standing frozen. “Uh? Aren’t you gonna come say hi?”

Atsumu opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again. Takes a deep breath. Closes it.

He’s not scared of his ex. He’s not! He’s scared of Kita, and he’s maybe also scared of what might happen if Seiji discloses some choice Atsumu-quotes to Kita. But also, Kita wouldn’t be disappointed in Atsumu for being a shitty ex right? Atsumu has been an excellent volleyball team captain, which is the important part.

Another deep breath.

“Yup! Let’s go say hi!” Atsumu says brightly, as if he hadn’t spent the last minute in terrified silence.

He power walks ahead to avoid an interrogation from Aran, who would _definitely_ be disappointed in Atsumu’s shitty-ex behavior.

Atsumu doesn’t make it very far.

One moment, he’s walking towards the stadium entrance, the next he’s getting body-checked by what feels like half the band. One of the trombone players darts out of fucking nowhere and zooms past Atsumu, shoving their giant black case into his hip into the process. Then a trumpet player swings their case at Atsumu’s ass. And then! Someone slaps his back with a whole entire tuba case. A tuba case!

Atsumu lands flat on his ass, almost falls off the sidewalk into traffic, which, holy shit! Holy shit. Seiji is actually trying to kill him.

“Oh man, are you okay?” Aran asks, kneeling beside Atsumu. Kita is here now too, squatting next to Aran.

Osamu, the jerk, is standing over them all pinching the bridge of his nose like _he’s_ the one being inconvenienced here. “You’re really gonna die before the tournament ends, huh? This is gonna be so embarrassing to explain to Ma,” he grumbles, extending his arm.

Atsumu blinks up, dazed, then takes Osamu’s outstretched hand.

“Would it really be so hard to apologize?”

“You know Seiji doesn’t accept apologies,” Atsumu mumbles, brushing the dirt off his ass.

“Which is why you shouldn’ve dated him,” Osamu whispers to himself, then says louder, “Ya didn’t break anything, right?”

“‘m fine,” Atsumu replies. He glances over at the rest of the team. Most of them look concerned, but Suna has his phone out filming. Typical.

“So uh,” Aran says, “What was that all about?”

“Atsumu and Seiji broke up last month.”

Aran physically flinches. “Ah,” Kita says neutrally.

“It’s fine,” Atsumu snarls— despite ample evidence that “it” is in fact not “fine”.

Atsumu waits for some kind of admonishment from Aran or Kita, but they don’t say anything. Instead they just look at Atsumu, faces soft with pity and worry, which is honestly… worse.

“It’s fine!” Atsumu repeats and stomps back to the rest of the team.

It is fine! Sure, Atsumu will admit at gunpoint that he was a little sad (just a little!) in the immediate aftermath of the breakup, but a month of separation has made it abundantly clear that he and Seiji were a pretty bad match to begin with. Sometimes Atsumu still misses spending time together mercilessly bitching about other people together, but the fact that Atsumu was never mercilessly bitchy to Seiji, not even once, probably said something about how little Atsumu was himself in the relationship. Seiji’s vengeful rage post-breakup is proof enough that Atsumu being himself would have ended their relationship much sooner, which okay, is a little sad. But! It’s fine.

In conclusion, no one should pity Atsumu for the breakup or be worried about his feelings because he’s totally over it. Everyone _should_ be extremely worried about Atsumu’s personal safety, but judging by the team’s laughter over whatever Suna is showing them on his phone— probably a video of Atsumu’s brush with death— that’s too much to ask for.

“I’m fine, in case anyone was worried,” Atsumu says.

“We weren’t,” Suna replies. Everyone starts giggling at that— even Kyoichi. Kita and Aran, who walked up with Osamu, are also smiling. Atsumu really can’t win this morning.

Heroically suppressing the urge to find a hole to crawl into, Atsumu puts on his captain voice and barks, “Alright enough messin’ around— let’s go meet up with the coaches” and successfully herds everyone into the stadium.

Being around volleyball has an immediate soothing effect on Atsumu’s rattled psyche. He takes a deep breath— sweat, salonpas, gym shoes. The band can be scary, sure, but no scarier than Kamomedai’s blocks or Itachiyama’s spikes. Inarizaki is going to win this tournament, which means they’re not about to get tripped up by some vengeful musicians.

The team says goodbye to Aran and Kita and is about to head towards check-in when a reporter spots them.

“Ah! Inarizaki! Miya-san, do you have a moment?”

Atsumu immediately pawns the team off to Osamu with a “I’m the hotter twin so I’ll do the interview, can ya take the team and find Coach?”

Later, when the team watches the interview back, Atsumu will notice Osamu clearly mouthing “attention whore” on camera behind him, and proceed to try and strangle his brother. For now, though, he’s thriving in his natural habitat: blissfully unaware in the spotlight.

“After placing third at the Fall Interhigh, expectations are high for Inarizaki this week. How is the team feeling about this tournament?”

“Hah! We’re gonna blow those expectations out of the water. The team’s in top shape, we’re ready to win it all,” Atsumu grins, hands on his hips, chest puffed out.

“You’re very confident in your team. Inarizaki is up against several schools— notably Karasuno High School and Itachiyama Institute— that you’ve lost to in previous tournaments. Are you nervous to face them again?”

At the mention of the small handful of schools that have successfully beaten Inarizaki in the past, Atsumu grins wider, darts his tongue out to lick his lips.

(“Do you ever calm down?” Suna deadpans later. Atsumu, busy trying to strangle Osamu, does not reply.)

“Nervous? Who gets nervous?” Atsumu scoffs, “They’re good teams but they’re not gonna win.”

The reporter laughs, a little like one would at a small yipping dog. “Well, we’re looking forward to watching the matches— Oh! There’s Itachiyama! Let’s see if we can— Sakusa-san!”

Somehow, the reporter successfully gets Sakusa’s attention and convinces him to join the interview. Outside of the court, Sakusa literally always looks like he’d rather be anywhere else so Atsumu can’t actually tell if the pinched look on his face means he hates Atsumu, interviews, or just like, life in general.

On the chance that it really is Atsumu making Sakusa look like he stuck his hand in a compost bin— pretty good odds, honestly— Atsumu graces Sakusa with his bitchiest smirk.

“Omi-kun!” Atsumu crows, using the nickname he came up with in a stroke of genius at the U19 camp this past summer, “How’re ya?”

It’s probably unprofessional to use such a personal nickname in front of the cameras, which is exactly why Atsumu does it. Sakusa has no compunctions against being equally rude, so he completely ignores Atsumu’s question.

“Ah, that’s right! You’ve both been participants at the Youth Under 19 summer camp for several years now. Do you think you’ve learned from each other through the experience?”

“Definitely! My receives are much better for having to deal with Omi-kun’s disgusting spikes for a whole week,” Atsumu replies.

“I didn’t pay much attention to Miya at camp,” Sakusa says flatly.

(Osamu, later, laughs so hard at Sakusa’s response that he starts choking, rendering Atsumu’s earlier attempts at strangulation completely moot.)

Atsumu, now, lets out an offended gasp. What? Fucking liar! Sakusa clearly preferred Atsumu’s sets to Kageyama’s, hesitating only about a second on average before spiking (as opposed to two, for Kageyama, not that Atsumu was keeping track or anything).

Atsumu glares at Sakusa, but Sakusa is unphased.

“Well, you’ve certainly played some excellent matches against Inarizaki in the past. Are you looking forward to potentially facing them again this year?”

“Sure.”

Jeez! This guy! Atsumu knows it would probably cost him his life, but he’s sorely tempted to poke Sakusa’s arm or snap the elastic of his mask or something just to get a reaction.

“As the champions of the Fall Interhigh, Itachiyama is widely seen as the favorite to win this year. Are you nervous?”

“No.” Sakusa says with zero intonation, “Can I go. I have to check in my team.”

Well, _that’s_ a lie. Coaches check teams in, not captains— Sakusa is such a jerk.

“Ah, of course. I understand you both are probably busy now!” the reporter says cheerfully. Atsumu is very impressed by her ability to keep positive in the face of Sakusa Kiyoomi’s gloom. “Best of luck during the tournament!” she chirps, then sends them on their way.

Sakusa shoots off like a libero chasing a stray ball.

“Wait! Omi-kun!” Atsumu yelps, stumbling after him.

Sakusa pauses, sighs deeply, then turns around. “What, Miya.” he bites.

Atsumu flusters a bit under Sakusa’s disgusted glare, but quickly regains his composure. Haughtily, he says, “You’d better make it to the semifinals. I’m looking forward to a rematch.”

Sakusa squints. “Your team is the one that keeps getting knocked out before we get matched in the bracket.”

Okay, fair enough. Atsumu’s challenge was definitely cooler sounding in his head. He’s glad Suna isn’t here at least to call him out on it.

Atsumu forges on. “Not this year,” he says firmly.

Sakusa raises an unimpressed eyebrow. “Oh?” he says, turning to walk away, “Prove it then.”

The leadup to their first match is uneventful, so Osamu starts to let his guard down. Maybe the attempted murder at the stadium entrance was revenge enough for Seiji. Maybe, just maybe, the band won’t actively sabotage matches and punish the rest of the team for Atsumu’s dickishness.

The team walks into the court accompanied by the Inarizaki fight song, the screams of the cheer squad. Atsumu manages to keep his jacket on his shoulders without it slipping off and then dramatically throws it away as they walk, which isn’t that impressive given Osamu catches him practicing the gesture at least once a week. Atsumu heads to the net, probably says something bitchy to the other captain, and secures first serve for Inarizaki in the coin flip.

Maybe, Osamu thinks as he folds his hands behind his head, just maybe, this match is going to go well.

Atsumu ditched the closed fist signal after the breakup— even he’s not enough of a jerk to command the band around after breaking the heart of its leader. Still, the band stops playing as Atsumu walks up to serve, another good sign.

Then, the ref blows his whistle, Atsumu starts his serve toss, and the _entire band_ plays a cacophony of discordant notes at the same time.

Atsumu’s serve soars clearly out of bounds. It’s not even close to close.

Osamu groans. Optimism is for fools. He should have known better.

“That was pathetic,” Osamu says to Atsumu as he stomps to his spot in the rotation. “We’re actually gonna lose our first match, again. You went and broke up with a fuckin’ band kid and now we’re gonna get wiped out in the first round like total scrubs. You suck so much. How do you suck this much?”

The crowd has broken out into confused muttering. The commentators are probably having a field day. Professional scouts are probably going to watch this match. His twin is so stupid. Osamu cannot believe he has to share a face with _this_ level of stupid.

Atsumu is embarrassed enough that he doesn’t even take the bait to get into a shouting match. “Shut it, I know,” Atsumu hisses and leaves it at that.

Their opponents— Mihara Tech, a first time qualifier from Hiroshima— serve with a jump floater, but it doesn’t have much velocity behind it so Kyoichi pops it to Atsumu easily.

Osamu is already running, and like magic or a miracle or an act of god, the ball materializes in his palm as he slams it down.

“Nice kill!” Atsumu says, as their opponents despair on the other side of the net.

“Good to know you can still set at least,” Osamu replies.

Atsumu snarls a response, but it’s lost in the crowd’s cheering.

Kosaku’s up to serve next, and sends a clean jump spike at Mihara’s ace, keeping him out of their next attack.

They go for a quick again and the receive is a bit shaky, but Atsumu, try-hard as always, bends backwards to set the ball to—

“Kosaku!”

It’s a clean set and a fine spike, but their opponent’s blockers are better.

“Don’t mind,” Osamu says, because while Atsumu is great at praising his teammates for doing something right, he still mostly forgets to support them when they do something wrong.

Instead, Atsumu is staring, eyes narrowed, at the other team. “Their blocking is better than I expected. Earlier too, they actually reacted to the quick pretty well, almost got two blockers on you.”

Osamu nods. He had noticed— Mihara might not be offensively impressive, but their defense could steal sets if they’re not careful.

Atsumu turns to look at Kosaku. “Get the next one,” he says, and leaves it at that.

Their opponent’s next serve lands just out of bounds, so Riseki steps up to serve next to the chants of “Lucky, lucky Ina-high!”

At the ref’s whistle, Riseki launches a jump serve that Mihara’s ace is forced to pick up. It’s a decent serve, but Osamu knows Riseki can do much better.

Atsumu does too, shooting Riseki a quick glare before running to block their opponents spike attempt for a point.

“The hell was that?” Atsumu snaps as Riseki steps up to his second serve, “Put your back into it!”

There was definitely a time, earlier in the year, when Riseki— still terrified of Atsumu— would have been cowed by the demand. Now though…

“Sorry Atsumu-san, I just didn’t wanna hit a home run like you did,” Riseki says with a coy smile.

Atsumu snaps his mouth shut. After hours and hours of extra serving practice with Atsumu, Riseki is more than used to his captain’s bluster.

Gin and Kosaku “ooooo” together, then start snickering. “Nice kill,” Suna says.

“Shut it, Sunarin,” Atsumu hisses, but the effect is lost given how red the back of his neck is. “Nice serve,” he calls at the whistle, though it sounds less like encouragement and more like a demand.

Riseki waits one, two, three, four seconds before tossing the ball and spiking, right in between the opponent’s libero and captain. A flawless service ace.

The team explodes— “See I toldja you could do better!” Atsumu laughs, ruffling Riseki’s hair.

Riseki laughs, “Keep up Atsumu-san or I’m gonna take best-server from ya!”

Atsumu grins, “Try it.”

“Act all cocky after you figure out how to serve with interruptions,” Osamu says as they retake their positions on the court. Atsumu rolls his eyes, but focuses on the match.

Riseki’s next serve is similarly brutal, and their opponent’s receive heads back over the net.

“Kosaku!” Atsumu calls as he ducks under the ball, which is weird since the receive was slow enough that he had time to use signals and not give away the play.

Kosaku jumps for it, but gets blocked again.

“Sorry!” he says, tugging at his ear.

“Next time,” Atsumu demands.

Ah, so that’s what his brother is up to.

For the next several rallies, Atsumu puts the ball up, again and again, for Kosaku. He’s done this in a handful of games before— when someone is having a rough day and just can’t get past the opponent blockers, Atsumu will refuse to stop giving them the ball until they break through the wall. It’s a gutsy tactic and usually costs them a ton of points in the early game, like it is now. It’s also really stressful, being constantly entrusted with the solemn duty of scoring a point while under fire from the perpetually vicious Inarizaki band and cheer squad.

But then, that was the deal Atsumu made with the team as its captain. He gave nothing less than his very best, and expected nothing less than the very best in return. He would snap at you for shitty spikes, but do all the extra spiking practice he assigned right beside you. He would get annoyed if you couldn’t get past blockers, but keep sending unpredictable, quick, flawless sets until...

BAM.

The sound of Kosaku’s spike seems to rattle through the court. The opponent blockers land in stunned silence. Kosaku isn’t the ace of the team, he’s not a known threat the same way Osamu and Suna are. And yet, here he is, blowing past a three person block.

“YES!” Kosaku and Atsumu shout together as they high five.

The game progresses very quickly after that. It’s like all the fight drains out of their opponents after they realize that Inarizaki isn’t just a pair of twin monsters, it’s an entire team of them.

They take the first set 25-20, and the second 25-10.

Inarizaki’s second round proceeds similarly, after massaging out some kinks at the beginning— like Atsumu finally learning how to serve with some background noise thank god— they’re unstoppable.

As he sets the final ball of the match to his brother, Osamu finds himself remembering something Atsumu said during their bout against Karasuno last year. When someone’s eating a good meal, everyone else around them starts feeling famished too. Hunger is contagious.

Atsumu doesn’t intimidate everyone into performing the way Kita used to, he instead somehow managed to get his hunger to catch in everyone else’s gut too. The signs of it are everywhere: Riseki’s timidity swapped for an impish grin every time he scores a service ace before Atsumu does. Suna’s laziness when the team opens up a large lead exchanged for an urgency to end games with brutal efficiency. Osamu’s shoddy decoy work traded out for jumping, again and again, expecting the ball to be there.

Inarizaki have always been challengers, but this year really has been something else with Atsumu at the helm. Where Kita had pulled the team back when their sprint grew unstable, Atsumu rushes ahead and dares everyone else to catch up if they can. With Atsumu as their captain— fierce and uncompromising and so in love with volleyball— what choice did anyone have but to follow?

As they head back to the hotel at the end of the day, Atsumu is kind of quiet, which is weird considering they’re playing Karasuno first thing tomorrow morning. Osamu expected an endless stream of chatter about “Shoyo-kun’s quick” and “Yuu-kun’s jump float receive” and “Tobio-kun’s serving is not better than mine”.

“Don’t tell me you’re tired already, ‘Tsumu,” Osamu says, a bit weirded out.

Atsumu shakes his head, a small smile on his face. There it is again, the way his brother’s eyes glow without any external light.

“Nah, just excited.”

The match has probably looked close to observers. But as Karasuno hits match point for the fourth time in the final set, there isn’t a shred of doubt in Atsumu’s mind. There hasn’t been this entire time— Inarizaki is going to beat Karasuno. Atsumu did make a promise, after all.

Tobio’s next serve hurls straight at Atsumu, but Kyoichi darts in front of him and scoops it up, getting blown back in the process.

“‘Samu!” Atsumu shouts as he scrambles over the libero in front of him, nowhere close to being able to set the ball.

“Cover him!” Karasuno’s captain shouts on the other side of the court as Atsumu starts his run-up. Three blockers convene in front of him— Tobio, the glasses kid, and their ace.

“Try it!” Atsumu yells as he springs up and—

—the ball slams into the ground on the opposite side of the court, smashed home by Suna’s completely unmarked spike.

“Damnit!” their ace yells.

“Shoyo-kun hasn’t trained ya to spot decoys yet?” Atsumu can’t resist quipping at Tobio, laughing at the feeling of the opposing setter’s lethal glare on his back as he runs off to high-five Osamu for the play. He knows he’s being more annoying than usual in this match (which is saying something), but he can’t help it. Karasuno is _fun_. Picking on Tobio is especially fun.

“Nice one ‘Samu!” he crows, “You’re finally gettin’ the hang of setting.”

“Well, good players aren’t one trick ponies,” Osamu replies, which is almost certainly a dig at Shoyo. Normally, Atsumu would defend Shoyo from his twin’s stubborn insistence that the opposing middle blocker is nothing special, but today he lets Osamu have this.

Shoyo is an extraordinary player, his speed and jumping height really are amazing to witness, but they’re not enough to keep up with Inarizaki, not today. Something has snapped into place in this match and it’s giving everyone the confidence to try crazier plays. Atsumu is still giddy from the end of the first set, where Kyoichi tried his hand at setting from the back line despite never having done it before. He sent a solid toss to Atsumu to score the winning point of the set. It’s been a close match on paper, sure, with Karasuno taking the second set after regaining their footing against Inarizaki’s relentless onslaught, but Atsumu can tell Karasuno is getting tired.

It’s Atsumu’s turn to serve now, and he successfully tunes out the off-key trumpet burst to shoot a killer spike-serve right at Shoyo’s knees.

Shoyo receives Atsumu’s serve surprisingly well, given how powerful it was. He’s improved so much in one year it’s incredible to see— his natural agility, quick reflexes, drive to get better all make Atsumu’s hands twitch with how badly he wants to set for the tiny spiker one day. But that’s for the future— right now, there’s a game to win.

The receive is still a bit long, so Tobio hands the shaky ball to his ace. The bald guy slams it down but Suna scoops it up neatly. Atsumu can’t hold back his grin as he settles under the cleanly received ball. All of Inarizaki’s spikers— Osamu, Suna, Gin, Kosaku, and Riseki— start their approach. Not even Suna is slacking.

The team actually managed to keep their new combination attack under wraps until this match. Osamu and Atsumu’s freak-quick, now fully polished, had kept all their opponents until now plenty busy. But Atsumu thought it was appropriate to thank Karasuno for being such excellent opponents by showing off what Inarizaki had learned (“shamelessly stolen” in Suna’s words) from them. Fair is fair, if you ask Atsumu— foxes and crows are both omnivorous.

One of Karasuno’s blockers— the glasses kid— actually jumps on the right target, getting up in Riseki’s face. It’s not enough. Riseki doesn’t even hesitate in the face of a potential blocked ball. He spikes the ball, full power, into the side of the spiker’s hand and it slams to the ground, out of bounds.

“Nice kill!” Atsumu crows, ruffling Riseki’s hair, “That’s our future captain for ya!”

The second year middle blocker laughs, “Atsumu-san knock it off!”

The band launches into Inarizaki’s fight song, so loud that not even Karasuno’s taiko drums can mess up their rhythm. The energy in the stadium feels alive, feral, flaring. It’s perfect.

“Don’t fuck it up,” Osamu shouts at Atsumu as his brother gets ready for his second serve. He’s mostly doing it for appearances though. They’re going to win this match— both of them know it.

Atsumu knows he could probably end the match with a jump-floater aimed at the bald guy, but well. Where’s the fun in that?

He aims at Karasuno’s libero instead. Nishinoya grins, delighted, and pops the ball up. A perfect receive.

“What the shit ‘Tsumu!” Osamu yells.

“Stuff it, I know what I’m doin’,” Atsumu snaps back. Alright, maybe serving at Nishinoya was indulgent, but Atsumu has to take his kicks where he can get them!

Karasuno takes advantage of the clean receive to answer Inarizaki’s combination attack with one of their own, three of their four spikers starting their approach. They’ve been using fewer players in their combination throughout the match. Atsumu isn’t sure why, but he knows it’s the wrong decision.

“One touch!” Riseki yells as he gets a hand on a spike from Karasuno’s ace.

Osamu gets under it with a shout of “‘Tsumu, spike!” and instead of bumping it, he turns the first touch into a set. Atsumu grins as he runs up. Osamu complained endlessly when Atsumu first suggested this combination but here he is using it at this pivotal moment— Atsumu loves being proven right.

Karasuno evidently remembers the double set combination from last year and is ready for it— one blocker on Atsumu, two on Gin who is running in from the back. Atsumu laughs to himself as he leaps into the air— Karasuno is going to have to be more nimble than that if they want to keep up with Inarizaki. He positions his hands like he’s about to set the ball again to Gin and then at the last moment taps the ball lightly, right over the tips of Tobio’s fingers.

“A feint?!” Karasuno’s ace yells. Nishinoya barely gets a foot under it in a wild receive that sends the ball glancing towards the back of the court, Tobio sprinting after it.

“Watch for the quick!” Atsumu shouts, heart caught in his throat as he hits the ground and steps back, watching Shoyo leap without hesitation.

The ball flashes into his hand but Suna and Osamu are already there blocking. Shoyo adjusts midair and the spike glances Suna’s hand, shifting its trajectory. Kosaku barely receives and the ball goes flying.

In that moment, Atsumu thinks he gets why Osamu is so stubbornly unimpressed with Shoyo. The speed and jump are special, sure, but the thing that always makes Atsumu stop in his tracks is the unflinching confidence revealed in each leap, the faith that the ball _is_ coming his way. The thing is, Atsumu’s been blessed with a spiker who has that same rare gift from the start.

Osamu is already in the air.

“Shit, cover!” Kosaku yells.

Atsumu doesn’t even hear him.

Kita will later note that Atsumu’s final set to Osamu mirrors their final play against Karasuno in the last Spring Interhigh.

That’s the last thing on Atsumu’s mind as he sends the ball shooting towards Osamu’s waiting palm. It’s their best attack, they’ve practiced it endlessly in every possible set-up. It’s merciless, powerful, near unstoppable even when you see it coming. It’s difficult to execute well. It’s risky against opponents who are familiar with it. It’s fun to pull off right. It’s a match against Karasuno. It’s his last high school tournament. It’s his twin brother.

There’s no other option, really.

Tobio and Shoyo both jump to block.

Osamu slams the ball into the tips of Shoyo’s fingers and it goes soaring. Karasuno’s libero and captain both go sprinting after it— Nishinoya even gets a hand on the ball but the angle is off and the ball drops quietly, resolutely, to the ground.

The ref blows his whistle twice, and that’s the game.

“HELL YEAH!” Atsumu and Osamu shout their victory in unison. They crash into each other in a shoulder bump that’ll probably bruise tomorrow.

The rest of the team piles onto them, sending everyone toppling to the ground. The noise is atrocious— between the band victory song, the screams of the crowd, all his teammates yelling.

This is probably an overreaction for a third round win, but unsurprising for Inarizaki. As the biggest public school in Hyogo, Inarizaki is crowded, stuffy, cutthroat. They’ve got an award winning band built on third-hand instruments. A massive old gymnasium with rafters covered in tattered championship banners, some of them getting moldy from the occasional water leak. They might not have the endless money of Itachiyama, or the coaching talent of Kamomedai, but they’ve got numbers and drive. They’ve got their pride.

After the loss to Karasuno last year, people started debating if Inarizaki was still the “strongest challenger” on the high school circuit. Atsumu thinks the match today cleared up any confusion on that matter.

Atsumu pulls himself out of the pile first, stands and takes a deep breath. The adrenaline of the game, the win, hasn’t faded yet. Atsumu’s breath is jumping a bit. The crowd, the rest of the stadium, everything not on the court still feels far away.

He glances across the net at Karasuno. The captain has a hand on Shoyo’s shoulder, saying something in quiet tones. The ace has his head hanging low. The libero hasn’t moved from where he landed when he tried to retrieve that last ball, still on his hands and knees, stunned.

If Atsumu were a kinder person, he’d probably feel pity. It can’t be fun to play your last game.

Instead he feels a strange warmth— vindication? gratitude? It’s like—

“Like after a good meal, right?”

Atsumu raises an eyebrow at his brother. Osamu’s watching Karasuno, eyes as indifferent as ever.

It suddenly feels physical and looming: a future in volleyball without Osamu. For the past year, Atsumu has tried his best to not think about it, but there are times where it’s impossible to avoid.

A good meal, huh? Good enough to want to keep eating? Good enough to make again?

Atsumu opens his mouth, but says instead, “You’re thinkin’ about food at a time like this?”

Osamu turns to face him and smiles— an actual smile, not the smirk Atsumu usually gets.

“Always,” he chuckles.

The world outside the court is starting to come back and Atsumu finds himself repeating the prayer he made at the Inari shrine two days ago: _not yet. I’m not ready for this to become memory yet. I’m not ready to let this go._

But the universe is merciless in its refusal to stop. Across the net, Karasuno’s libero takes a deep breath and stands up. Karasuno’s ace slaps his cheeks and lets out a loud whoop, face covered in snot and tears. Karasuno’s captain walks to the net, smiling.

Atsumu rolls his eyes. “Rice for brains,” he says, then shouts to the rest of the team, “Enough clownin’ around— line up,” and steps up to thank Karasuno for the match.

After the match against Karasuno, Osamu assumed the rest of the day would be simple. Their fourth round opponents were nowhere near as unpredictable or offensively skilled as Karasuno. Inarizaki, riding the high of a good game, should have sailed to victory easily.

Instead, they drop the first set against Takagiyama High School, their fourth round opponents.

By then, Osamu is sure something is up with Atsumu. He’s been snappier than normal, not in the harmless annoying way, but the legitimately pissy way. His sets to Osamu are getting faster and more forceful— Osamu barely got his hand on the last one of the set, leading to a sloppy spike and an easy point for their opponents. The weird setting is fucking up Osamu’s playing too. He’s so thrown by being out of sync with his twin for what feels like the first time ever that he finds himself hesitating in run ups, spiking a little slower than normal.

They eek out a win, but barely.

To his credit, Osamu does not blow up at Atsumu in front of the team. Everyone else has been giving them a wide berth ever since Osamu missed a spike in the final set and Atsumu snapped “would you fucking score already?” like he was a first-year again.

Coach Kurosu lets them out of the debrief meeting with a stern “figure it out” to the twins, but Atsumu stomps away immediately afterwards.

Osamu goes after him, catching up in the hallway.

“Oi! What the hell is your deal?” he hisses, grabbing Atsumu’s shoulder.

“Nothing.” Atsumu bites.

Osamu laughs harshly at the blatant lie. “Clearly it’s not nothing if you’re being so pissy you almost lost us an easy match.”

At this, Atsumu flares up, batting Osamu’s arm away. “ _I_ almost lost that match? Are you serious? You were the one who couldn’t keep up with any of my tosses.”

“You’re tosses were garbage in the last set, how was anyone supposed to hit those?”

“The rest of the team hit ‘em just fine,” Atsumu hisses.

This makes Osamu pause. Atsumu’s right, the rest of the team had no problem in the match, which is why they managed to pull out a win despite all of the twins’ plays going wrong. But the sets Atsumu had been sending him were legitimately absurd, which means...

“So this is just about me, then?”

Atsumu sneers. “Yup, glad you get it! You just sucked!”

“Shut up, that’s not what I meant. You were giving me bad sets this match,” Osamu accuses, stepping up to get in Atsumu’s face.

“None of my sets are bad,” Atsumu shouts back, shoving Osamu, “You just suck at volleyball!”

“What the hell, ‘Tsumu!” Osamu yells, “They were shit and you know it! Coach hasn’t yelled at you like that in ages!”

“He yelled at you too! Your run-ups were slow as shit and your jumps were average at best. Maybe I’m just tired of carrying your sorry ass in matches! Top five ace, my ass. You’d be nothing without my sets,” Atsumu spits, teeth bared.

Atsumu’s neck and ears are completely red now, face scrunched and twisted into a snarl— it’s how they both look when they’re legitimately upset. Osamu hasn’t seen his brother this angry in a while, not even after the breakup with Seiji. In fact, Osamu hasn’t seen Atsumu this furious since about a year ago, when Osamu told him he was quitting volleyball.

Osamu loosens his fingers where they’re clenched in Atsumu’s jacket collar, then drops his hands entirely.

“Is this about me quitting?” he asks.

Atsumu purses his lips and refuses to answer. “Get offa me,” he says instead, pushing Osamu away.

“Fucking seriously, ‘Tsumu? You’re still mad about that? I literally told you a year ago, I thought you were over this.”

Where the fuck is this coming from? Atsumu hadn’t shown any signs of being upset during the past year— he hadn’t even been making little quips, he basically didn’t mention Osamu’s plans to quit at all. Osamu’s fists ball up as he gears up for take two of this argument, gets ready for the spitting and hissing and shoving and countless awful things Atsumu will say.

Instead, Atsumu hisses, “shut up,” but offers no other defense. Instead, he walks away without explanation.

Osamu watches him leave, rage draining abruptly, too bewildered to even react. His twin _never_ walks away from fights.

“‘Tsumu!” Osamu calls after a moment to his retreating back. Honestly, he doesn’t even know what he wants to say.

It’s just as well— Atsumu doesn’t turn around, doesn’t even react.

When they group back up with the team, Atsumu acts like nothing happened, which is what he always does after they’ve resolved an argument except this time, nothing actually got resolved. Atsumu isn’t the type to pretend he’s fine when he’s not— he’s moody and pissy and always lets everyone know what he’s feeling.

The whole thing is so surreal that Osamu just kind of rolls with it.

No one else on the team notices that anything is up, to them it seems like Atsumu is acting perfectly normal. He ducks into a supply closet when he sees Seiji coming down the hallway, he teases Kyoichi mercilessly about his crush on the captain of the Inarizaki women’s soccer club, he leads team meeting with the same fierce love he brings to all parts of volleyball.

But then, there are several little moments that make Osamu pause, stop him from shaking the uneasiness that’s settled in his spine since their fight. At dinner, Atsumu doesn’t even attempt to steal any of Osamu’s food, despite sitting next to him like he usually does. When Osamu starts munching on some leftovers during team meeting, Atsumu doesn’t even seem to notice, forget demanding that Osamu “stop chewin’ and focus for once!” like he normally would. He even concedes first shower, which Osamu is sure has never ever happened before.

Osamu’s heading down to the hotel kitchen to grab some tea and probably also a late night snack when his phone buzzes with a text from Kita.

 **Kita:** _Are you and Atsumu okay?_

Osamu shivers a little— how the fuck did Kita know something was up still? Atsumu and Osamu fucking up during games isn’t exactly shocking— the weird part is that their disagreement still isn’t resolved, even if no one else can tell. Osamu swears Kita is psychic, he would literally bet his rice cooker on it. Shaking his head, Osamu shoves a plastic wrapped curry bun under his arm to free up a hand and type out a response.

 **Osamu:** _honestly, i don’t even know. we argued after the match but ‘tsumu walked away._

 **Osamu:** _he never does that_

 **Kita:** _Hm, that is weird._

 **Osamu:** _right? he’s been weird after too, almost like nicer to me? i have no idea what’s up i just hope it doesn’t mess with our games tomorrow_

 **Kita:** _What did you argue about?_

 **Osamu:** _uhh the usual mostly? ‘tsumu called me a scrub even though his tosses sucked today too. he was mad about me quitting volleyball though, which was also weird. he hasn’t brought that up in ages._

 **Kita:** _Have you tried talking to him?_

 **Osamu:** _hah are you kidding? ‘tsumu and i don’t talk about shit, it usually works itself out._

 **Kita:** _….._

Osamu shivers again— he can imagine the look on Kita’s face— but stands by his refusal to actually talk to Atsumu about it. Talking is for siblings who didn’t share a womb.

 **Osamu:** _whatever it’ll be fine. thanks for checking in though. how’d you even know something was still up?_

 **Kita:** _Ah, Aran told me._

At this, Osamu raises an eyebrow.

 **Osamu:** _how’d aran know something was up?_

 **Kita:** _Atsumu called him._

Osamu fumbles his phone. When he lunges to catch it, he forgets he’s carrying a mug of hot tea and sloshes half of it all over himself.

“Ow, fuck!” he shouts.

Gin pokes his head out from their room. “Uh, you good dude?”

“Fine,” Osamu hisses. Fucking Atsumu choosing to fucking grow some emotional intelligence and rely on friends for support when it’s least convenient for Osamu, what a piece of rotting garbage.

 **Osamu:** _what tsumu called aran?!? what did tsumu tell him??? what did aran say???? what_

Trust Osamu’s flaming dick of a twin to go complain to Aran of all people about Osamu! It’s not like Osamu’s crush is serious or anything, but it’s the principle of the matter. Anyways, Aran is good friends with both of them. Why does Atsumu get dibs on him for emotional support?

Fuming and covered in rapidly cooling tea, Osamu settles down on the ground against the hallway to continue his rant.

 **Osamu:** _i can’t believe ‘tsumu would complain about me to aran what the hell_

 **Osamu:** _ugh we really are gonna drop to itachiyama tomorrow cuz of this_

 **Osamu:** _aaughhhhhh_

Kita starts typing, then stops, then starts again, giving Osamu lots of time to get even more pissed at his brother. Complaining to Aran? Seriously? Instead of maybe getting over himself so they can actually win the tournament? Fucking hypocrite acts like he cares so much about volleyball but then goes and does this! And it’s not like they’ll be able to squeak by tomorrow morning like they did today— they’re going to be up against Itachiyama; they'll need to be at the top of their game. If Osamu ends his last volleyball tournament ever in a stupid loss caused by miscommunication, he’s never going to forgive Atsumu.

Osamu’s phone finally buzzes with a response for Kita.

 **Kita:** _Actually he didn’t call to complain._

What?

 **Osamu:** _what?_

 **Kita:** _Osamu, do you think that maybe Atsumu also doesn’t know why he’s frustrated?_

Huh. Osamu lowers his phone and looks up at the opposite wall.

That’s...a very reasonable conclusion to draw. Atsumu has the emotional intelligence of a squid on the best of days. He probably doesn’t know what his deal is.

For some reason, that pisses Osamu off even more. Damn Kita and his measured logic.

Osamu looks back down at his phone, unsure of how to respond. Luckily, Kita’s not out of wisdom.

 **Kita:** _Atsumu cares too much about volleyball to let this trip him up. Give it time, he’ll figure it out._

Osamu scowls. What if he _doesn’t_ trust Atsumu to figure it out, huh? What if Atsumu is too stupid to figure out what he’s feeling and it ends up costing them the tournament?

He has his fingers poised over his phone, ready to type out a petty response to Kita’s wisdom when he hears loud steps coming up the stairs and snaps his head up to see Atsumu walking down the hallway.

His brother doesn’t even glare. He just pauses, squints warily at Osamu, then keeps walking.

Osamu waits for him to enter their room and close the door, then throws his phone at the wall.

On the last day of the Spring Interhigh, Atsumu wakes up before his alarm with Aran’s words from the night before still playing through his mind.

“You’re allowed to miss your brother, ya know?” Aran had said, voice fuzzy through the phone as Atsumu sat, shivering, on an overturned bucket at the hotel roof.

Atsumu scowls and kicks his blanket off.

“How can I miss ‘Samu, he’s right here?” Atsumu had snapped. Aran had just chuckled softly in response, and Atsumu had suddenly felt small and exposed in the cold Nagoya night.

Scrubbing his teeth with perhaps excessive force, Atsumu glares at himself in the mirror.

Atsumu isn’t angry at his brother for not choosing volleyball, not anymore. He doesn’t think Osamu has been taking this tournament less seriously because he knows it’s the last one. He doesn’t feel any of the things he said yesterday, really. He just.

Atsumu scrubs harder. Spits. Hears the door to the bathroom opening and rushes to the shower before he can confirm that it's Osamu who just entered.

They didn’t talk at all last night and Atsumu knows the clock is running down on figuring their shit out before it starts messing with their play. Too bad Atsumu doesn’t really know what to do about it. The team gets ready, goes through morning warm-ups, and makes its way to the stadium for the semi-final match without problem. Atsumu and Osamu, in unspoken agreement, haven’t practiced the quick once today. As the team walks over to the warmup court, Atsumu gets a text.

 **Aran:** _have you talked to Osamu yet?_

Fuck, Atsumu thinks, shoving his phone back in his pocket. He drops his bag down at the warmup court and stalks off to the restroom. They’re up against Itachiyama today, they’re going to get destroyed if he and Osamu don’t get it together.

He’s so busy spiraling about Inarizaki’s inevitable crushing defeat at the hands of Itachiyama that he walks right into the person already waiting in line at the bathroom. In his defense, the person is pretty short.

“Hey! Watch where you’re— oh, Miya Atsumu!”

Atsumu blinks and looks down. “Oh, Noya-kun.”

After a little too long of a pause, Atsumu settles his hands on his hips and forces a grin. “Good game yesterday. Your jump-float receives’ve gotten a lot better since last year.”

Nishinoya laughs. To Atsumu’s relief, he doesn’t look hurt or sad that Karasuno lost the match so Atsumu doesn’t feel any obligation to attempt to comfort him. Not that he would even if he did.

“Thanks Atsumu-kun! Inarizaki played really well— I had a lot of fun. It was a good last match,” he says grinning.

“You’d better stay sharp— I intend to win our rematches at the next level,” Atsumu says.

At this, Nishinoya winces a little bit. “Uh, actually,” he says, “That was my last match for real. I’m not going pro.”

“What?” Atsumu is shocked— Nishinoya is the second best high school libero in Japan, behind Komori. There’s no way he didn’t get scouted.

“...University volleyball?” Atsumu ventures.

Nishinoya rubs the back of his head. “Still no,” he laughs, “I’m leaving it behind for real. Going to go work for a bit, then travel!”

More than disappointment, or anger, or judgement, Atsumu mostly feels confused. He doesn’t get it— didn’t understand when it was Osamu and doesn’t get it now— how do people just walk away from this?

“That’s… a shame,” Atsumu says finally, and he means it. That last serve in their match against Karasuno was the last time he and Nishinoya would pass the same ball, one to the other, in a formal game. It hadn’t even been intentional— Atsumu served at Nishinoya on a whim. Just like that, Atsumu’s thinking about Osamu again, about the end of the tournament, wondering which play it’ll be: the last one, the last time he gifts the ball to his twin brother. Will he know it in the moment? Will he be able to give it the care it deserves?

Nishinoya forges on, unaware. “A shame for volleyball, yeah,” he says, proud, excited. “But there’s plenty of other things that I get to do now. Who knows what I’ll find? Or what will find me?”

Atsumu just nods, focusing on keeping his smile on his face as he runs through the Inarizaki playbook and then makes up new plays for good measure, constructing each possible final moment in his head.

“Anyways! I’m glad that match was my last game. You’d better win the whole thing now though. I want to say that I played my last game against the champions!” Nishinoya punches Atsumu arm, jolting him back to reality.

“Speaking of,” he continues, “What was with game four? You’re going to get knocked out if you keep playing like that!”

Atsumu blinks, processes Nishinoya’s words, then blushes. He looks away from Nishinoya’s open expectant gaze and opens his mouth to bluster some bullshit defense of the match, but then his eyes land on his own reflection in the bathroom mirror.

Ah, what the hell. He’s probably never going to see Nishinoya again after today. Might as well.

“Uh, well. Me and ‘Samu were off that match. It’s uh. Well ‘Samu’s quitting volleyball too, after this tournament,” Atsumu mumbles.

Nishinoya’s eyes go wide. “No way? Seriously? Huh, that’s so weird,” he says, as though his quitting volleyball is not equally weird.

“Yeah,” Atsumu says, grumpily, “Real weird.”

“So you were messing up because you’re going to miss your brother?” Nishinoya asks, eyes wide and earnest.

The words hit harder this time. Instead of disappearing into the dark at midnight on an atmospheric hotel roof, they echo in the smelly bathroom of the Nagoya Civic General Gymnasium, inescapable. The truth seems so obvious now that it’s been confirmed by a second source outside of Aran, spoken by a near stranger instead of his best friend. It really is that simple, isn’t it? Atsumu feels small again, like he did last night. He thinks about a future in volleyball without Osamu, thinks about standing on the court without his twin by his side, and he feels small. He feels alone.

“Well, yeah,” Atsumu says, so quiet he’s not sure Nishinoya even can hear him.

“Why, though?” Nishinoya replies, blinking up with genuinely guileless eyes.

Atsumu lets out a noise that’s halfway between a cough and a laugh, startled by Nishinoya’s bluntness.

“I mean,” Nishinoya continues, looking up as he thinks it through, “It’s not like he’s going anywhere, right?”

“I know, I know,” Atsumu says, “I get it! That’s why I keep tryin’ to tell myself too! Even if we’re not playing volleyball together, he’s still my brother and we’ll be a part of each other’s lives, I’ve heard it all before. But—”

“No, that’s not what I meant,” Nishinoya interrupts. “I mean, he’ll still be with you in volleyball, right?”

“Huh?” Atsumu asks, genuinely confused now. “No? He won’t? That’s kind of the point?”

“No, no! I mean, he won’t physically be playing with you. But your own playstyle, the way you think about the game, you grew that all with Osamu-kun, right?”

Atsumu tilts his head. “Huh?” he repeats.

“Okay, like when you serve, your WHAM spike-serves are just like your brother’s! They actually feel almost the same to receive so I assumed you gave each other tips when practicing. Or, I mean you’ve got this kind of WHA-POW style of setting, right? You’ve got the kind of sets that say, ‘you’ll be there to hit this, won’t you?’. But I think you can only make really confident, demanding sets like that if you develop them with a spiker that can meet and push your sets in return!” Nishinoya says brightly, “None of that goes away when Osamu-kun stops playing. So, like that, your brother will still be with you!

“That’s what I think, anyways. Though Asahi-san says that’s too straightforward and only people like me can think like that. But I think he’s just still surprised that I’ll be moving so far away...”

Atsumu tunes the rest of Nishinoya’s chatter out, too busy turning over his words in his head. He rolls them like he would a volleyball between his palms, confirming the familiarity of a something he already knows so well.

What was it that Kita had said when Karasuno got knocked out by Kamomedai a year ago? Something about building muscle. Something about how the training, the games, the wins, the losses, all the in between meals, how all of it stuck with you long after you left the court. Became a part of you, even.

Maybe it is as simple as Nishinoya says. Maybe people are also on the list of shit that stays.

“Uh?” a voice squeaks behind him.

Atsumu jolts out of his epiphany to be met with the tiny form of— oh shit— Hinata Shoyo. How long has he been standing there? Did he catch all of Atsumu’s verbal fumbling? Oh no, what if he watched the match yesterday? What if he doesn’t want Atsumu to ever set to him because of the piss-poor performance? What if Atsumu won’t be able to keep his promise because Shoyo refuses to ever play with him?

“Noya-san? Osamu-san?” Shoyo says.

Atsumu chokes on his own spit.

“Are you going to use the bathroom? Because uh, I’ve been standing here for a while and I really need to pee.”

After spending a solid ten minutes staring into space in the bathroom recovering from Shoyo forgetting his name, Atsumu nobly collects himself and rushes back to the team, heading straight to Osamu.

“Oi, ‘Samu.”

Osamu startles, almost drops his phone, then shoots Atsumu a glare that Atsumu feels is a bit unwarranted in its intensity.

“What?” Atsumu snaps reflexively, which is a mistake because Osamu is clearly spoiling for round two of their argument.

“Just wonderin’ why a high and mighty professional setter like you is willing to talk to a regular guy like me,” he spits.

“‘Samu,” Atsumu says, exasperated.

“Sorry if I don’t wanna listen to you bitch about me not caring as much about this as you do, you fuckin’ asshole.”

Atsumu winces. Okay, so Osamu is _pissed_.

“I don’t—” Atsumu starts.

“Don’t you?” Osamu interrupts. He takes a breath, about to launch into more detail of why Atsumu has been an inconsiderate jerk but Atsumu cuts him off.

“I don’t!” he insists firmly. Something in tone must register as earnest to Osamu, because his brother closes his mouth and raises an eyebrow.

Atsumu takes a deep breath. Talking about emotions. Apologizing. Communication. Easy, he knows how to do this. Well... actually everything about the Seiji situation proves that he _doesn’t_ know how to do this, but he can learn.

“Look, I’m sorry ‘bout yesterday. I was just...” Atsumu trails off. Having the desire to communicate is one thing, having the skill to put thoughts into words is another.

Osamu’s eyes have gone wide, and Atsumu can only describe the emotion in them as horror.

“—Wait,” Osamu cuts in, “Are you… are you seriously tryin’ to talk about what’s been up with you?”

“Yeah?” Atsumu says, feeling a bit indignant. Osamu could look less like the thought of talking makes him want to sprint in the opposite direction.

“Now?” Osamu asks, exasperated.

Suddenly self-conscious, Atsumu mumbles, “Well, yeah. We’ve got a match in thirty we’ve gotta get our shit together.”

Osamu pinches the bridge of his nose. “What is _with_ you lately? Fuckin’ creepy,” he grumbles.

“Hey! What the hell? I’m tryin’ to have a heart to heart conversation here and you’re complaining? Ya jerk…” Atsumu says.

“Do I look like I want to have a heart to heart?” Osamu asks, nose crinkled in disgust at the very thought.

Just like that, the heaviness that’s settled between them seems to ease a little. Atsumu is maybe overcomplicating this a bit. At the end of it all, Osamu is still his twin, cut from the same emotionally constipated cloth.

“I can’t believe you! And people call me the rude one.”

“You are the rude one,” Osamu replies instantly.

“Anyways,” Atsumu forges on, “What I was gonna say before you got all pissy and derailed the conversation—”

“— _I_ derailed the conversation? You were the one who—,” Osamu says hotly, but Atsumu talks over him.

“What I was gonna say was,” Atsumu looks away to the court, where the rest of the team is starting to practice serving. “I’m sorry about my sets yesterday during round four. We should focus on the quick during warmups, since we didn’t practice it this morning. Last chance to get it perfect, right?”

Atsumu isn’t looking at Osamu, but usually he can guess with complete accuracy what expression his twin is wearing. When Osamu replies with a quiet “yeah” though, Atsumu can’t quite place the face, doesn’t know how to put it into words. He just knows he’s wearing the same expression himself.

Inarizaki walks onto the court for semifinals, invincible after a phenomenal warm-up. The band plays loud, obnoxious, overwhelming behind them. Even as Itachiyama steps out from the locker rooms, their every step oozing competence and superiority, Inarizaki fills the room.

Atsumu can’t keep the smirk off of his face as he steps up to shake Sakusa’s hand.

Inarizaki has already finished its fight song and seems to put their instruments down, but then as the Itachiyama band plays their last note, the Inarizaki band blares out a contrasting tone, ruining the moment. Atsumu snickers as he watches the Itachiyama band shoot poisonous looks their way— he and Seiji had a lot of fun coming up with that one. They used to spend hours plotting how to take down their Tokyo rivals, bonding over how the volleyball team and band were only as good as they were because they bought all their talent.

If there’s anything in this world that Yuasa Seiji hates more than Atsumu, it’s probably the Itachiyama Institute Marching Band. Atsumu might finally get to play a game without constant serve interruptions.

He’ll need it, he thinks as he watches Sakusa’s lips twitch at the interruption.

“So, you made it.” Sakusa says, brow furrowed. Is he annoyed? Satisfied? Determined to win? Atsumu certainly can’t tell.

“Of course we did. Don’t make this too easy for us, Omi-kun,” Atsumu drawls.

Sakusa says nothing, but his expression (somehow) gets more pinched and he squeezes Atsumu’s hand harder. Atsumu feels bones mash. He grins with all his teeth.

“Trying to break my hand before the match? That’s not very sporting of you, Omi-kun,” Atsumu says as the ref flips a coin.

“We won’t need that advantage to win,” Sakusa replies curtly.

Atsumu’s eyes widen a bit and a bit of a genuine smile sneaks into his patented threatening-the-other-captain grin. Sakusa took the bait! Sakusa almost never takes the bait! He _is_ excited for this match, Atsumu knew it!

The ref clears his throat.

“You’ve won the coin toss, Miya,” Sakusa says.

“We’ll serve,” Atsumu says, not taking his eyes off of Sakusa. “Get ready, Omi-kun.”

Atsumu feels almost giddy with anticipation at the game ahead, his body feels electric, legs almost trembling as he walks back to the team.

“Done flirting already?” Osamu quips.

“Shaddup, I wasn’t—”

“—you definitely were,” Suna cuts in.

Atsumu looks to Gin for support, but finds no mercy there either.

Gin shrugs. “Ya probably shouldn’t be so obvious about it in front of Seiji. We’re gonna need the band on our side to win this one.”

Atsumu sputters, “I wasn’t! Ugh. Fine. We’ve got first serve, if anyone cares.”

“I’ll bet you anything that he serves at Sakusa,” Suna whispers to Osamu, more than loud enough for Atsumu to hear.

Atsumu, who was in fact planning to serve at Sakusa, blushes.

“Alright, give your captain a break!” Coach cuts in, hiding a laugh behind his fist.

The team circles up and shifts to attention.

Coach Kurosu keeps it simple as always. “I don’t have anythin’ to say that you don’t already know. You’ve put in the practice, you have the training you need to reach your highest potential. My only advice today is: leave it all out on the court— no room for regrets, alright?”

“Yes sir!” the team shouts in unison.

Coach laughs fondly. “Good! Let’s get started then!” He nods at Atsumu, “Anything to add?”

With a nod, Atsumu turns to the team. “I’ll be givin’ it my all in this match! I expect the same from all of you,” he shouts.

“Even with Sakusa on the court?”

Atsumu snaps his mouth shut. It is truly so cruel that he was cursed from birth like this. He elbows Osamu, who elbows back twice as hard. The first years start snickering.

Rubbing his side, Atsumu grumbles, “Seriously ‘Samu? You can’t give me a break even now?”

“Nah,” Osamu smiles.

Atsumu rolls his eyes and takes a deep breath to get back on track, scanning over the rest of the team. The first years’ giggles have resolved into broad smiles. Everyone’s smiling actually— even Suna has his weird toothy grin on. On reflex, Atsumu mirrors the smiles, his shoulders relaxing, tension draining out of his spine as excitement sparks up in its place.

“I’ll be givin’ it my all in this match,” he repeats, “And I know all of you will do the same. Let’s play some good volleyball today.”

To Atsumu’s surprise, the entire team— even Suna, even Osamu— replies with a loud, “Yes sir!” just like they did for Coach Kurosu.

He blinks once, twice, feels his eyes get a little hot. Blinks a third time for good measure— _don’t cry before your semifinal match, you dumbass._

No one seems to notice, distracted by the ref blowing his whistle impatiently, except for Osamu of course.

“Crybaby,” Osamu whispers at him.

“Shut it,” Atsumu hisses back.

He’s just proud of his team, grateful— lucky even— to have them. He’s allowed to be a little emotional about it! Osamu is just a heartless jerk.

Another whistle from the ref— okay they should really get going now before they get penalized. Atsumu glances across the net to see that, yep, Itachiyama is already in place. They’ve probably already been ready for a while now, given the impatient glare Sakusa is sending Inarizaki. Atsumu meets his eyes and smirks— it’s not his fault his team knows how to have fun.

“Hurry up and serve, ‘Tsumu,” Osamu says, nudging Atsumu.

“Give ‘em hell, Atsumu,” Riseki says.

“Please don’t aim at Sakusa,” Suna deadpans.

Gin laughs, claps Atsumu’s shoulder. “Go get ‘em, captain.”

Atsumu takes his position at the back line.

Later, this game will end. Later, Atsumu will set a volleyball for his brother for the last time in an official match. Later, Atsumu will get swarmed by V.League recruiters and insist that he got more attention than Suna did. Later, Atsumu will start crying again when Aran and Kita tell him they’re proud of him. Later, Atsumu, full of good will after the stellar tournament, will text an apology to Seiji and receive a photo of Seiji’s middle finger in response. Later, Atsumu will board the bus with his team and make the three hour journey back to Amagasaki.

Later, the future will arrive, looming and unknowable and full of the potential. Later, Atsumu will start playing volleyball without Osamu by his side.

Now, Atsumu walks six steps back from the edge of the court and takes a deep breath.

“Don’t fuck it up!” Osamu calls.

The ref blows his whistle.

Atsumu tosses, jumps, serves.

The match is into its fifth set now. They’re down one point, 32-31. It’s the fourth time a set has gone into the 30s today.

Osamu doesn’t think he’s ever been this tired before. He also doesn’t think he’s ever been this full of energy. Inarizaki’s offense has been on another level for the entire game— their serves near impossible to receive, the synchronized attack near impossible to predict, the quick near impossible to stop.

Itachiyama’s defense, however, has also been on another level, getting just enough shaky receives that they keep Inarizaki from running away with the match. And then there’s Sakusa. Fucking Sakusa Kiyoomi and his annoying spinning spikes. Osamu has known for a long time that his brother gets horny for good volleyball, but he really can’t comprehend being anything but pissed off right now— Sakusa’s play is just disgusting.

Osamu feels an eye twitch as Sakusa steps back to serve again. He can’t even razz Atsumu for his infatuation because Atsumu isn’t letting it distract him, he’s been perfect for the entire match.

Actually no, Osamu corrects as he glances over his brother. Atsumu has been better than perfect for the entire match— he’s playing at another level entirely, pulling incredible sets out of the shittiest receives.

“Bring it!” Atsumu shouts, eyes pinned to Sakusa, glowing, flaring.

Osamu can see so clearly, right now, the future stretching out in front of his brother. Scouts swarming after this match, starting for a D-1 team out of high school, playing in huge stadiums, at the Olympics even.

Sakusa serves at Osamu, like he has been for the entire match. What a dick.

Gin darts in front of Osamu to pick up the serve like he started doing in the second set when it became clear that Itachiyama was doing everything in its power to keep Osamu out of play.

The receive is pretty bad, spinning low and close to the net, but Atsumu— somehow— is already there bending back to push the ball up high.

“Suna!” he shouts, landing flat on his back as his legs give out.

Suna runs up as three blockers converge— which, shit, a three man block is tough to get past no matter how flexible your torso is— and in a stroke of quick thinking rebounds the ball instead of spiking.

Osamu doesn’t give Itachiyama a moment to reset. He’s already running, springs up and slams it down over the tips of the Itachiyama middle blocker’s fingers.

Sakusa— the jerk— receives the spike.

“Sakusa-san!” the Itachiyama setter shouts, bumping the ball underhanded (amateur) to the left.

Sakusa pauses, giving Suna, Gin, and Atsumu time to get ready to block, and then sprints forward and leaps into the air.

Honestly, that’s the thing that bothers Osamu most about Sakusa. The spinning spikes are plain unfair, the stellar receives are asinine, but the way he hesitates before spiking, watching the ball carefully, calculating if it's worth his time to hit…

Osamu firmly believes that a spiker’s greatest weapon is confidence. Bendy torsos, flexible wrists, left-handedness, unreasonably large biceps, trust in the setter, springy legs, insane speed— all of that means nothing if the ball doesn’t come your way.

In the end, all a spiker can do is jump and pray. Jump with the knowledge, the faith, that the ball is coming.

The fact that Sakusa doesn’t seem to have that confidence in his setter and he’s _still_ better than Osamu is beyond infuriating.

Sakusa’s spike rebounds off of Atsumu’s hand and then somehow goes spinning laterally towards the opposite end of the net. Osamu has never been very good at physics, but still, what the fuck.

“Return it!” Kyoichi shouts, sprinting after the ball and getting a foot under it.

The ball is heading to the back of the court now.

Osamu and Atsumu spring into gear at the same moment, crossing paths as Atsumu runs for the ball and Osamu runs for the net.

“Watch for the quick!” Sakusa yells, running up in front of Osamu. Their middle blocker scrambles to get in place next to him.

 _Screw you, you arrogant asshole._ Osamu thinks as he leaps into the air, bringing his arm down. If they get this point, it’s Atsumu’s turn to serve. If they get this point, they still have a chance to win. _This game’s not ending here. My brother’s gonna serve again and kick your ass._

The ball materializes in Osamu’s palm on the downswing, then it glances off the side of Sakusa’s hand and slams down out of bounds.

Or, at least it would have if the Itachiyama outside hitter hadn’t dived for it and somehow gotten it in the air, _again_! What the hell?!

“Sano!” Sakusa shouts, bumping the ball to the middle.

Their middle blocker slams it down but Kyoichi is waiting, giving Atsumu the first clean receive in what feels like ages.

The entire team starts its run-up, scattered as they are.

Osamu thinks he hears Sakusa mutter, “Goddamnit,” and lets himself feel smug satisfaction, despite his exhaustion.

Atsumu sets to Riseki. It’s a beautiful set, sharp and not at all telegraphed. No one on Itachiyama sees it coming, and Riseki slams the ball down unmarked.

Except. Itachiyama’s outside hitter dives for it again and barely gets it up. Goddamnit! Itachiyama’s libero isn’t even on the court right now!

The ball crashes into the net and drops to the ground, but there’s enough time for their middle blocker to get his fist under it. He pops it up high and yells, “Sakusa-san!”

Sakusa doesn’t hesitate this time.

Neither do Osamu or Atsumu. Out of the corner of his eye, Osamu sees his twin shift his center of gravity, get ready to receive.

Osamu leaps for the net, heartbeat pulsing in his palms, Coach Kurosu’s advice from the night before playing through his head: “Sakusa’s spikes are too difficult to receive consistently. We’ll win this game on blocking.” He gets in Sakusa’s face, angling his arms in front of Sakusa’s right arm.

Sakusa adjusts in the air. He spikes around Osamu’s arms in Atsumu’s direction. Osamu drops to the ground and whips around.

Atsumu’s receiving form is excellent. He adjusted from his original position, darted to the path of the ball, got his whole body behind his arms to use his center of gravity to blunt the momentum of the spike.

The ball makes impact. It twists off of Atsumu’s forearms, rolls to the side, and flies past him.

Kyoichi and Riseki both dive for it.

The ball still drops.

The stadium is silent. Wait, no. That’s just the blood rushing in Osamu’s ears. He doesn’t even hear the ref whistle. If people are clapping and cheering and screaming, Osamu can’t hear it.

He’s frozen, eyes locked on Atsumu. It’s funny— looking at his twin almost never feels like looking in a mirror, unless they’re in a game. They’re too different outside the court, hair and contacts aside, Atsumu dynamic and magnetic where Osamu is unconcerned and impassive. It clicks into place during games though— they’ve got the same ferocity, the same hunger. Suna once told him that he didn’t really believe Atsumu and Osamu were twins until he watched them play.

It’s unsettling, then, to see a stranger in Atsumu right now. Right now, Atsumu’s eyes are wild, locked on Sakusa, still full of the fierce energy of the game; his mouth is half open in a snarl, his chest heaving, body tense and ready to spring into the next play. Right now, Osamu thinks he’s never looked less like his twin.

Then, Atsumu’s eyes flit over to meet Osamu’s and he exhales.

So that’s it then. It’s over.

A clap breaks the silence. Then another. Some more.

Osamu glances up, away from the court, and the world fades in again. As he looks around the stadium, he sees everyone on their feet, just clapping— no cheering or yelling or anything. And it’s not just the Inarizaki cheer squad that’s doing a solemn we-just-lost-but-good-game kind of clap. It’s Itachiyama too, and all the other spectators. Everyone is doing the respectful, stoic, good game clap.

And it was, Osamu realizes. It was a really good game. The best he’s ever played. Hell, the best he’s ever seen on the high school circuit. They played well. Osamu played well. Just not well enough.

When he looks back at the court, Atsumu is already in front of him, jaw set, eyes steely. Osamu opens his mouth— to apologize, to say thank you, to… say something— but Atsumu pulls him into a hug before he can react.

Suddenly, Osamu’s eyes start to water. What the hell. He _never_ cries.

“You’re...you’re not gonna chew me out?” Osamu asks, bewildered, doing everything he can to keep his voice steady.

“Shut up, I’ll do that later!” Atsumu snarls. His voice is wobbling. Osamu’s shoulder feels damp.

“Dude, are you crying?” Osamu asks, trying to sound in control and judgemental and grossed out, except his voice breaks on crying and calls his bluff. Just like that, Osamu’s crying into Atsumu’s shoulder back.

“Shut the fuck up, you jerk. You’re crying too.” Atsumu clenches his fist in Osamu’s jersey and sniffles loudly.

The clapping of the crowd has broken out into proper cheering now as the spell of the match breaks, whooping and stomping and everything. The Itachiyama and Inarizaki bands seem to be competing to see who can play louder. It’s _so_ loud. It’s overwhelming. It’s the last time Osamu will ever be here. He curls his fist into Atsumu’s jersey back.

“Ew, ‘Tsumu, gross,” Osamu says when Atsumu blows his nose, but it comes out in a laugh, and now he’s laughing and still crying and getting snot all over Atsumu’s jersey too, and his volleyball career just ended, and this is the most emotion that Osamu has felt since he was four probably.

“You’re gross,” Atsumu replies snottily, sounding every bit like a four-year-old as well, so maybe that’s just what happens after you end your high school volleyball career— automatic reversion to toddlerhood.

Osamu looks up and blinks the tears from his eyes. As he scans the team, he feels the lump in his throat grow thicker.

Suna is smirking, but it’s toned down with resignation. Gin is crying, but smiling through it. Riseki is crying too but notably more distraught, Kosaku at his side rubbing his back. Kyoichi is staring, stunned, at where the ball dropped to the floor.

 _Last time,_ Osamu thinks to himself.

Osamu feels his brother take a deep breath, then another, and then his fist loosens and drops away. Atsumu steps back.

“Let’s line up!” he calls to the team, captain face back on, only slightly ruined by the red eyes and nose.

Osamu wipes his faces in his jersey, swallows down the pit of _everything_ lodged in his chest, and turns to thank Itachiyama for his last match.

By the end of the day— after all the post-game thank you’s and bows, after the team watches Itachiyama lose to Kamomedai in finals, after a boisterous team dinner— Osamu is properly brooding. He waits until everyone starts getting ready for bed and slips away.

The roof of the hotel is unoccupied, probably because it’s really fucking cold out. Osamu remembered his jacket so it doesn’t bother him much. Still, water is already beginning to condense on his eyelashes, blurring the city before him. It’s not like the view is that impressive anyways— the hotel is only three stories tall. Downtown Nagoya rises up as a jumble of lights in the distance, cut through by the dark silhouettes of branches from trees much closer to the hotel.

Osamu sits down on an overturned bucket surrounded by cigarette butts, runs the tip of his sneaker through the ash to make a black smear on the ground.

He kept forgetting, after the match. He bantered with Komori Motoya over handshakes like they were going to play against each other again someday, watched finals assessing Sakusa and Hoshiumi for weaknesses as future opponents, debated who should sign with which team with Aran, Atsumu, and Suna over dinner like it even mattered to Osamu.

The tightness in his chest that’s been dogging him for the whole tournament is back full force, stronger now even. Osamu snarls, presses his palm to his chest, digs his fingernails in.

Then, the rusty door to the rooftop creaks open.

“You couldn’t give me even ten minutes to stew on my own?” Osamu asks, without looking up.

“Nah,” Atsumu replies, “You get more annoying the longer you mope. So, what’s your deal?”

At this, Osamu turns to squint suspiciously at his brother.

Atsumu is leaning against the door with one foot, arms crossed over his chest, one hand clutching a paper bag. He’s wearing his own jacket, but Osamu’s sweats— so that’s where they went.

“I’m allowed to be grumpy when we lose games,” Osamu says.

“Sure, but we were all grumpy after the game. You’re the only one bein’ all angsty about it.”

Osamu snorts. “It’s different for you. You’re still playin’. You get to swear revenge against Sakusa or whatever.”

“You knew this was comin’ when you decided to stop.”

Osamu examines Atsumu’s words for anger or bitterness but doesn’t find any. Atsumu says it like a statement of fact, and it is. From the start, Osamu has known this was going to be his last tournament. He knew his last game was coming, even if he didn’t know which one it would be.

“Maybe I wanted to go out on a win,” Osamu says petulantly. Maybe that is the issue, that his last game was a loss and there’s nothing he can do to fix it now. Except that doesn’t explain why his chest has been knotted up for months now, well before that final spike from Sakusa.

With a shrug, Atsumu says, “Fine, but you don’t usually mope over losses that had nothing to do with you.”

Ah. That’s what it is.

Osamu frowns. He can’t believe he’s getting emotional revelations out of talking to _Atsumu_. How the mighty fall.

Atsumu beats him to it in saying it out loud. “...you’re not blaming yourself for the match, right?”

“What’s your deal?” Osamu snaps back, deflecting, “Why’re you bein’ so nice? How come you’re not complainin’ about everything that happened in that match?” Osamu can’t believe he’s in a more foul mood than his twin post-loss. He can’t be the bigger sore loser in their last tournament— he’ll never get the chance to even the score.

“Huh? What would I complain about? No one was slackin’.” Atsumu has the nerve to look genuinely confused. “Besides, did you forget that I was the one who flubbed the last receive? I’m not gonna run around yellin’ at the rest of the team for that.”

Osamu glares at Atsumu. He really never did get used to his brother being a responsible and understanding captain.

“You know as well as I do that the match was all about blockin’, and I was the one who flubbed the last block. Besides, we’re supposed to be an offense based team but my attacks couldn’t win the match fast enough.”

Atsumu looks at Osamu like he’s grown a second head. “Didja get concussed or something? Offense is a team effort. Besides, if it’s anyone’s fault that our offense was lacking then it’s mine. I’m the setter, it's my job to set up attacks. But our offense wasn’t lacking in that match. We were phenomenal, you know that.”

“No it’s not that—” Osamu cuts himself off with a groan. He’s not explaining himself properly— this is why he doesn’t do heart-to-hearts. He trails off into silence, attention back on the skyline. Tracing the dark ink-spill lines of the tree branches with his eyes, he tries to figure out how to put it into words.

_It wasn’t my fault in any way that I could control. It was my fault because I’m not you, I’m not Sakusa— not a monster, not a god, not a larger than life force on the court._

When he takes too long to say something, Osamu gets smacked in the face by a paper bag, the one Atsumu had been holding.

Osamu jumps. “‘Tsumu, what?”

“Food, got it from a stall down the street,” Atsumu says by way of explanation. “You get stupid when you’re hungry.”

Osamu studies the bag— plain, kind of crumpled, moderately heavy so there’s probably rice or dumplings or something inside— then looks back up at Atsumu who is once again looking out at the Nagoya skyline.

“I’ll miss it,” Osamu says eventually, looking back down at the bag, “I’ll miss playing with monsters like you. Whatever comes next, it won’t be the same.” _It won’t be as good— I won’t be as good,_ he doesn’t say. He wonders if Atsumu hears it anyways.

Atsumu doesn’t reply for a long while, and Osamu starts to feel restless so he fiddles with the staple on the bag, trying to get it out without tearing the paper. Just as he thinks he’s got it, Atsumu speaks again and Osamu nearly drops the bag in surprise.

“I realized I was gonna miss you. That’s why I played weird after Karasuno.”

Osamu jerks his head up to stare at Atsumu, eyes wide. Atsumu is resolutely not looking his way. After a moment, Osamu finds that he can’t keep looking at Atsumu either. He snaps his head back down to his lap and finally pulls the staple out. When he opens the bag, he finds two onigiri inside.

Atsumu is still talking, voice getting louder as he goes. “You’re good at volleyball. Really good. I love playin’ with you. But it’s more than that— playin’ with you has made me better.”

Osamu picks one of the onigiri out of the bag, examines the nori wrapping. They’re from the same place Atsumu got the rice balls they offered at the Inari shrine a few days ago, Osamu realizes. Oh.

His twin takes a deep breath, then declares, “If you left the sport to be second best at somethin’ else, I’ll never forgive you.”

Osamu doesn’t know what to say, so he takes a bite of the onigiri. It’s a little oversalted, and the rice is a bit too dry and firm. The filling is quite good though— it’s simple tuna mayo but they used tuna canned in oil, not water, so it doesn’t have that dry and grainy texture of cheap tuna. The oil gives it a good flavor, and the green onions and spicy mayo compliment the fish nicely. Osamu wonders what’s in the spicy mayo. It tastes different from any store bought brand he’s tried, so the stall must have had its own recipe.

He thinks this moment should feel heavier than it does. Instead, his brother’s words, the bag in his hands, his chest, they all feel light— like a prayer, or maybe a promise.

Osamu swallows, smiles. “Okay.” Takes another bite.

The quiet stretches out— Osamu’s chewing, car horns in the distance, wind rustling through the leaves of nearby trees.

“‘M still gonna have a happier life, though,” Atsumu offers after a moment.

“Sure ‘Tsumu,” Osamu replies around a mouthful of rice, “Whatever you say.”

_CODA_

“Get offa me! Fuck how are you this heavy _before_ you even open a restauarant! Like a fuckin’ hippo I swear!”

“Stop movin’ ‘Tsumu you’re shakin’ the screen.”

“Maybe I would stop movin’ if you stopped fuckin’ sittin’ on me!”

“Maybe if you stopped tryin’ to steal my phone and stop the contest, I wouldn’t have to sit on ya!”

“Yeah Atsumu, shut up and let us bully you!”

“Betrayed by my own underclassmen….I can’t believe this….after all the work I put in…”

“Stop whinin’ ‘Tsumu. Alright, in third place we got Riseki—”

“—after I taught ya to serve?! Ow! Fuck! Stop pinchin’ me ‘Samu that hurts—”

“—his entry is: Atsumu gave Seiji a plastic recorder for Christmas with a note reading: for my favorite flute player, heart emoji.”

“...what? Fuck you guys I’m a better boyfriend than that!”

“Uh huh, sure Atsumu.”

“You know what Sunarin— Ow! ‘Samu I swear!”

“Second place! Ikeda with: Atsumu kept usin’ cork grease as chapstick before makeouts and Seiji couldn’t take it anymore.”

“What! I’ll have you know that I am extremely good at—”

“—shut up literally none of us want to hear it.”

“Um Suna...are ya sure Atsumu can breathe like that?”

“Don’t worry Kyoichi, he’ll be fine. Keep going Osamu, who won?”

“In first place we got Gin—”

“Gin?!”

“Sorry Atsumu, I love ya but I love Osamu’s cooking more.”

“Screw you Gin see if I ever help you with math homework ag—”

“Oh my god, shut _up_ Atsumu.”

“Heh, thanks Suna. Okay first place is Gin, whose entry is: Seiji thought he was agreein’ to go out with me when ‘Tsumu first asked him out and was too polite to back out of it for an entire year.”

“...oh my god Gin.”

“Oooo nice kill Gin!”

“Rest in peace Atsumu-san! We’ll miss you!”

“...hey uh...is Atsumu okay?”

“Oh shit, he’s not movin’...”

“Suna I think you killed him.”

“Oh. Uh, sorry? I guess?”

“Please he’s just bein’ dramatic—”

“—ow ow ow stop my ear is gonna fall off!”

“—see? I wish it were that easy to get rid of this parasite...”

“......fuck you too ‘Samu.”

**Author's Note:**

> WHEW ITS DONE! this fic happened because i flew into a blind rage after episode 2 of the cour (u know the one...) and decided that if the studio wasn't going to give me good inarizaki content i would simply create it myself!!! anyways i love the twins and inarizaki A Lot and i hope this fic did them justice!!
> 
> comments are so so appreciated <3
> 
> also come yell w/ me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/actuallyatsumu) about inarizaki if u want


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